Legend Tells Unicorns Run To The Sea
by zmajoljupka
Summary: "You're becoming very real and you're not good for him, just like he isn't good for you." Growling, the man made sure he understood. Oliver found himself smiling… Sergei/Oliver ...give it a chance you may be surprised :-
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own only the plot, all characters are copyright to Beyblade

Title: Legend Tells Unicorns Run To The Sea

Main Pairing: Sergei/Oliver

Summary: _"You're becoming very real and you're not good for him, just like he isn't good for you." Growling, the man made sure he understood.__Oliver found himself smiling_… Sergei(Spencer)/Oliver a surprising pair, an interesting story, little randomness in places, tiny bit of angst and of course…lemon. You have been warned and invited.

Hi guys :) this is my first yaoi publication…you don't like don't read! It started off as a silly idea while I was stuck with writer's block on an entirely different story but when I began I couldn't stop writing.

I was hoping to be the first to claim this odd couple but there have been some ambitious scribblers who beat me to the punch :p good for them :D

Please give this pairing and my creative genius ( ;) XD) a chance!

PLEASE REVIEW!

* * *

He was sitting on the café terrace. Leaning back in the iron wrought chair with the big white cushions. A café noisette was steaming from the cup and a chocolate croissant was served on the elegant porcelain plate beside it. It was a sunny day, a real summer morning with a bright blue sky and perfect white clouds. Oliver sighed opening the daily newspaper. He was always rather lonely during the summer and, on that beautiful morning, he again had no one to join him.

Working as a chef in his star restaurant had always been an honour, however, sometimes during hot summer days he wished to be carefree like Giancarlo. He flipped through columns and colourful pictures before coming to the centrefold add of his L'étalon blanc. Tonight, he would be cooking with his father, a rare and greatly attended feast. Tables had been booked months in advance and with all the French from the north storming the Riviera they would be booked for the rest of August and September. Oliver sighed at the prospect of having morning coffee alone while his friends slept from nights of pleasure and entertainment…he sigh at the prospect of cooking for 8 to 10 hours straight and staying behind to lock up when the employees were going home.

He took a sip of the dark liquid and savoured the taste while looking down at the crossword puzzle on the back of the newspaper. The curls of his green hair fell down his chest, tied together and falling over his left shoulder; he had decided to let it grow and by that summer it reached his middle back. Despite the wishes of his mother he still insisted on dying it green. His silver pen glided over the paper. Oliver found some pleasure in a lazy morning; in rituals he had repeated for years and sweet croissants he never got tired of.

The sound of his phone ringing la Gloria snapped him out of the puzzle and Oliver's shiny silver eyes focused on the number. It was his father.

_Yes?_

_Don't forget you have to meet the new chef at lunch._

He had forgotten and frowned rolling his eyes. _Of course, I'll meet you at the restaurant?_

_Yes, Leone is just picking him up from the airport. They should be arriving in a couple of hours._

Oliver covered the microphone with a hand and cursed under his breath. He could forget taking a dip at the seaside today.

_I'll be there._

_Excellent._

There were no goodbyes as his father cut off the call. Considering the preparations for their star L'étalon blanc and the management of the other restaurants they were on the phone all the time so formalities died out. Oliver finished his breakfast and his coffee, leaving the daily paper on the chair beside him. He left the Euros by the cup and looked around. Lots of tourists crowded the beautiful square and the narrow alleyways, more and more Americans were coming to the Riviera and the beautiful man didn't like it. Most Americans ate in fast food restaurants and most Americans were ignorant and rude. He sighed again at his predicament. American's weren't to blame…his overworked and tired brain was.

The walk to the restaurant was uneventful and he took the longer route to enjoy the beautiful seaside. The smell of salt in the wind and the sound of waves hitting against the walkway soothed all stress. Quicksilver eyes watched beautiful white sailboats in the distance, glittering with the sunlight on the surface of the sea. There was one summer when he didn't cook…when Giancarlo and he got a few friends together and spent a month sailing around the Mediterranean… He closed his eyes to the memory of the open sea and the sound of wind snapping at the sail, to the giggles, the champagne (from Champagne) and the small cook's galley. A nervous beep from his phone snapped him out of his holiday again. It was a text message from his mother, she always made sure he didn't forget his responsibilities and that there was peace between him and his perfectionist father.

_The new cook is arriving in 20 minutes. Where are you?_

The beautiful man quickened his step, the restaurant wasn't far but he should arrive _before_ their new employee _not after_. This was the first time in the last three years that his father hired someone whose food he hadn't tasted. The green haired chef was on needles at this newest addition to the team…even more so because he would be _starting out_ in their most prominent restaurant…_where fuckups aren't tolerated…_ He remembered his father's words and his slap very vividly…it being the one and only time he heard his father swear. Oliver never over-seasoned the food again.

* * *

The elegant doors opened and he smiled in greeting to his beautiful and always fashionably dressed mother. His father was in his cooking garments and had his arms crossed.

"I thought you weren't coming at all." He simply stated, it was custom to speak English in their restaurant because they had a lot of foreign chefs and servers. This was something the other restaurateurs scorned at first…but the Bollinger chain ate them up for their pig-headedness.

"Apologies. Luckily I have arrived on time." His honest smile calmed his father and Oliver nodded to the military lined kitchen staff. They smiled or nodded in answer, the silver eyed man always _tried_ to be on good terms with their employees. It didn't always work out. "Could we speak for a moment father?"

The stern man nodded and they went to the side.

"This chef…who is he? You've been rather secretive?" He tried to ask it the finest way possible, so it wouldn't appear he was second guessing his father's choice.

"Sergei Petrov, a somewhat peculiar cook but his food…his food is _symphony_." Oliver arched an eyebrow…he heard that _name_ somewhere but he couldn't remember.

"Where did you try his food?" The silver eyed men starred each other down and Oliver's arms were crossed on his chest in a somewhat defensive manner.

"Russia; it took a while to persuade him to come to France." In bored tone his father answered.

It was obvious from the name to Oliver that the man was Russian but the horrible itch of not remembering something he _should know_ was driving him crazy.

They heard the front doors open and turned their attention. His father walked toward the newcomer to greet him. Oliver lagged behind, peeking over his father's shoulder. Silver eyes caught the corner of a chest, a _very muscular_ chest rippling beneath a broad white button-down. As he stepped closer his mouth opened in recognition and surprise. It made sense the name would be familiar…it was Sergei Petrov the world championships finalist...a Demolition boy. _Well, he sure isn't a boy any longer_…Oliver decided. Curls of semi-short blond hair fell around the Russian's face and his sharp cerulean eyes rested on Bollinger senior. There was a faint smile on his thick lips and Oliver felt heat rummage around his abdomen out of fear and _something else._

"A pleasure to meet you." The tall man bowed his head gently as he shook hands with the petite Frenchwoman. His deep voice grumbled as he spoke in a heavy Russian accent.

"This is my son and the head chef in L'étalon blanc, Oliver." Sergei moved the focus of his vision from the woman to the green haired man. They shook hands in something that seemed a standstill. It took Sergei a few moments to remember why the green hair struck a nerve. He focused on the large quicksilver eyes and the perky feminine nose and the well defined pouty lips. The little boy had grown but he still looked like a weak little boy…like a model; the _fairy_ and his _unicorn_ as Brian put it. A small smirk rose to his lips as he remembered the barrel of laughter they had when they saw his _horn, _poking out of the helmet.

"You were with the Majestics." In a well-voice the strong man stated.

"Oh? You know about it?" Oliver blushed as his mother laughed at her son's _odd hobby_.

"Yes mother… Sergei Petrov was a world finalist." Oliver added in a pigeony voice; unsure weather his mother would be in awe or in laughter.

"Well, I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about than…besides cooking of course." She stated through a giggle. Oliver wanted the earth to shatter. His mother had no idea of Sergei's reputation or the reputation of his team.

"I am certain we will manage, mother." Oliver hoped the smile he gave Sergei in apology would be enough.

"Sergei, I am aware you have a long trip behind you however I am certain my son would love to taste something you can throw together." _Throw together_ meant _impress us with_ in his father's dictionary and Oliver kept his large silver eyes on the Russian.

"A light lunch would be in order, without doubt." The blond smirked as he said it. Oliver noticed his father's smile stretch as he went to introduce his new chef to the kitchen staff and then allow him free reign in their kitchen.

Oliver looked to his amused mother who crossed her arms on her chest in her lavender Kenzo dress.

"Mother, I would be grateful if you didn't mock the sport I care so much for." The elegant man was trying his best to sound formal.

"Oh darling, don't be so _common_. We put up with your playtime; give me at least the satisfaction of some amusement from it for myself." He closed his eyes for a moment. _ She can be so frustrating._

"Of course" He answered meekly turning back to the tall Russian. _How did a soldier blader become a chef?_

* * *

Oliver couldn't remain still on his chair. He squirmed and switched sides, crossed his legs and uncrossed them, leaned over the table, leaned away.

"Would you _please_ stop?" Briskly his father asked. "What's gotten into you?"

"Can't I just _go_ into the kitchen?" He pleaded, like he never pleaded with his father before. His mother raised an eyebrow but allowed her husband to make the decision.

"Why?" Was a legitimate question and Oliver knew it. He just didn't have an answer. He couldn't very well say…_because Sergei was a soldier…because from what Max told me he's a monster…because the world fears him?_

"We've never let _any _chef unattended in the L'étalon blanc." Oliver smirked inwardly. There was _nothing_ his father could say against such a claim.

The older man though for a while. "If it will calm your spirits, go."

Oliver was on his way to the kitchen before his father even finished the sentence. His mother smiled at Bollinger senior.

"A chef that makes him _run_ for the kitchen…I must say, a good find love." She giggled to her internal joke. Oliver's father still didn't know about his…_preferences…_but mother knew and she laughed like it was the funniest she'd heard in a while.

He listened to his footsteps on the tiled floor, there was little holding him back from turning to a run. The beautiful man pushed the doors to the kitchen open. The midday sun was bursting into the kitchen and Oliver smelled chicken roasted on garlic, black pepper, lemon and rosemary. The sunlight fell upon the larger man and shimmered off his knife as he sliced and diced the olives, the zucchini, the green lettuce and the red chicory. It would be a salad Oliver concluded, however the recipe itself seemed rather too plain…he knew his father always sought extreme new things in his chefs and Oliver wondered if Sergei could deliver.

The blond blader had his back turned to Oliver and silver eyes dragged over his features again. Petrov had always been tall, he nearly reached a full two meters which was almost a head and a half taller than Oliver, who could expect no more from his short parents. The man had hard and well trained muscles that outlined even through the broad white shirt; he wasn't awkwardly bulky however, rather built like a gymnast with strong limbs and a rippled chest. Oliver stopped himself from further analyzing the Russian's body.

"Come to check up on me?" Oliver blinked at the man's question and smiled while leaning down on the counter, so his head was perched up by his hands.

"Someone had to," Oliver chuckled, "Wouldn't you rather it was I?" Oliver twirled a lock of green hair around his finger. _Why did I say that? What does he care who came?...embarrassing._ He felt a blush crawl to his face; he certainly wasn't being _professional…_

"Is there a reason I should be especially happy it is you?" The tall man muttered through his work, not having the time to look over his shoulder at the younger man. _I should watch my tong if he's going to be my boss…_

"I'm sweet to the eyes?" _Did I just flirt with him? _Oliver closed his eyes fending off a blush. This _wasn't_ how one greeted new employees. Then again he had never had an employee with a body like _that._

Sergei burst out laughing, even though he tried to prevent it. Oliver stood upright, shock evident on his face, he felt somewhat offended.

"If you're that sweet on the tong with all your guests, no wonder people keep coming back." The Russian answered when the chuckle had died down completely. The unicorn really _was girly_ he concluded_._ _Perhaps I shouldn't have laid it on that thick…_He mixed up the salad and began seasoning while turning around to flip the meat on the open fire. He noticed the flabbergasted way Oliver watched him handle the stove.

The green haired man needed a moment to think of a witty reply. He was distracted by Sergei's expert handling of their stove, most chefs flinch from the large flames at first and some even outright decline working the _Bollinger fires_.

"A good chef is always _sweet_ but the best are actually _spicy_." His lips pulled to a smirk as he shifted weight to one leg and put his hand on his hip. _Let's see how far this Demolition boy can follow…_

The Russian chuckled, Oliver was distracting him. _Perhaps that was his intention. _"When you say spicy, do you mean _hot_ or just _salty?" _Sergei answered with a smirk and he noticed Oliver's features lighten up.

The Bollinger heir was having _fun_, more fun than he'd had in weeks. A continual smirk was now plastered to his lips and he found he couldn't _stop_ smiling. "A good chef should know _spicy_ is _more_ than just _hot and salty_…there is an entire range of other _sensations._"

Sergei was laughing again, he was surprised at the green haired man's wit and his brash attitude. The Russian had never encountered _anyone_ who spoke his mind _that_ amusingly. He wondered just _how far_ he could push their little game.

"Would you mean the ticklish range of tastes that spill over your tong as you savour? When it begins with the heat of a mouthful succulently grinded, to reveal its first offerings of taste and texture? Then hidden aromas release themselves with the roll of a tong and cumulate eventually into a completely different aftertaste when they are swallowed." _Valkov would have whipped me with a gaze for that... _Cerulean eyes watched the heir with a sharp amusement.

Oliver remained frozen for a few moments, his mouth watering at the blonde's words. No one _ever_ made him _that aroused_ with a statement…_OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod…_ there was a distinct period he couldn't think. Sergei was nothing like the heartless, silent, mass murderer Max had once led him to believe. He was…_quite_…different. Or was he just _pretending? Is he humouring me? _So much uncertainty in a thought and silver eyes searched the Russian's expression for reassurance.

"That's _exactly_ what I meant." He managed to answer the smiling blond. Silver eyes focused to Sergei's face. Cerulean eyes were vibrant, emphasized by fine ash blond eyebrows. Sergei's nose was somewhat crooked as if it had been badly broken once but it gave such a savage flavour to his features and such a soldier's profile Oliver couldn't imagine it being better any other way. The smirk on the Russian's lips was faint, defined by a deep crease at the corner of his full lips. The unassuming and inconspicuous teenager Oliver remembered turned into an attractive and rugged man. Considering the age difference between them Sergei must have been around 22…but Oliver couldn't be certain.

"I will be finished soon." The deep voice snapped Oliver from his assessment and he nodded, still dazed somewhat.

"I hope your food is as good as your smug retorts." Oliver stated leaving the kitchen, he pushed the light doors not waiting for a reply. _I want him to be hired…_

Petrov was mixing up the chestnut honey dressing and frying up peanuts, flipping around the kitchen like he had no care in the world. _So…unicorn boy likes my comebacks…this job could be a lot more fun than I imagined. I can't wait to tell Brian who my boss is…or…wait…should I?_

_

* * *

_

Quicksilver eyes darted from, Sergei bringing the food, to his parents. He hadn't been that nervous since he cooked for them the first time when he was 9 and when father said his pasta was excellent but he served the wrong utensils. The food smelled divine as the honey dressing dripped gold down the leafy tri-coloured salad and quick-fried well seasoned chicken. Fried baguettes with little seasoning were served with the dish and Oliver closed his eyes when he saw his father take a forkful. _Please be good. Please be good. Please be good._ Oliver opened his eyes when he thought his father would have swallowed. His mother also looked to her husband first for a verdict.

"Oliver?" His father questioned and long pale fingers took the fork finely. The young Frenchman took his time to take what he thought was an optimal mouthful. The Russian watched him swallow far more intently. _If he likes it…I would cook for him again. _Sergei was somewhat surprised at the trail of thought that gripped him.

Like Sergei had explained earlier, the heat of the chicken contrasted with the cold of the salad and the sour/bitter taste of lemon chicken and olives first tickled his pallet, seasoned well with pepper and just a dash of olive oil. He than experienced the texture of soft chicken and crispy salad enriched with a crunchy peanut drawing in the sweet yet bitter chestnut honey dressing. He took a small bite of the sesame seasoned baguette that tipped of the fabulous taste… After he swallowed a sweet and salty taste remained calling for a drink of fine white wine. _It was good…It was very good. _ A smile stretched on his lips before he even said anything.

"I loved it. I really _loved_ it." He said exasperated and his mother chuckled before eating. His father nodded with an _I-told-you-so _smirk. He shook hands with Sergei.

"Welcome to the L'étalon blanc!" Both his parents had said and Sergei nodded with a smile in agreement.

When he finished eating Oliver noticed it was already 4 p.m. he frowned. The big feast would begin in four hours. He and his father had made many of the preparations a days ahead but there was a lot that had to be prepared fresh and even more that would have to be cooked just in the nick of time to remain a delicacy.

"You're free for the rest of the day, rest and get accustomed to the climate. Leone will show you to the apartment we've prepared for you. If the situation were different I would give Oliver a free day to introduce you to the city and the local customs, however we have a big night ahead of us and I will need my son in the kitchen." When his father finished explaining Oliver gave a polite smile to Sergei to excuse this strange predicament. The large Russian only nodded.

"Of course; I wish you a successful evening." Sergei knew the world required you to be _polite_ he _knew_ money was a necessity and a good job meant everything. Tala had also understood that _freedom_ meant responsibility and received a Beyblade scholarship to study psychology…_Tala wanted to learn how the brain works…so he could fix himself…I thought, if he managed, he just might be more than capable of fixing others… _

Brian and Ian accused them of being sell-outs and traitors…until they couldn't pay the bills and crawled back in search of a helping hand. _Sometimes we have to learn the hard way…_ The large man mused, shaking the hand of his new employer, his wife and his son.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight tickled his eyelids and the green haired heir squirmed in his big bed. Last night was a success however it also meant he doubted he would be able to stand in the morning. They had over four hundred guests during the evening…over two thousand courses…and not to mention greeting benefactors and wealthy clients; clients like Robert Jurgen his _captain and the Jurgen family_, Giancarlo Tornatore his _friend and his girlfriends _and Johnny McGregor who seemed to fly in from Scotland just to be _loud and demanding._

Oliver couldn't force his eyes to open but he couldn't go back to sleep either…it was too hot for that and too sunny. The option of shutting the shutters and turning on air conditioning was simply too much of a hassle. He sat up blinking his eyes open and pulling the thin white sheet from his limbs. Oliver didn't usually sleep naked, but when he was at the south coast and it was hot, he would lock his door to any nosy maid and relax. He rubbed his forehead and ran a hand through long locks of green hair. He _loved_ the long curls and twirls at the tips of his hair and the romantic way they fell when he let his hair loose of tied it to fall over his left shoulder with a beret on his head. He loved drawing in attention; he loved steampunk and strange artsy clothing. He was _French_ after all and he decided he _knew just what being French was about…_

He took a long walk along the marina. He had coffee noisette and a vanilla croissant at his favourite cafe. He was bored again. Giancarlo tried to persuade him to join him on his yacht for a party after the restaurant closed but Oliver barely got home, showered and collapsed on the bed. He heard a deep chuckle from one of the tables at the back of the terrace. Peeking though the masses in hope it really was who he thought it was, Oliver noticed the muscular man at the laptop. The café was a free wireless zone Oliver remembered and picked up his coffee walking to Sergei's table. The Russian didn't acknowledge his approach and Oliver took a seat in the cushioned chair. Long pale fingers lit a cigarette and watched the cerulean eyed man intently. _Is he ignoring me?_ There was a pang of offence at the thought and Oliver pinned his gaze to the older blader.

"Sergei…" He half-whispered playfully and noticed the blond man twitch slightly.

Petrov felt chills run down his spine when someone called his name like it was a secret whispered very sultry to his ear. He turned his gaze from his chat with Brian to the green haired man beside him.

"I _don't_ like to be ignored." Oliver mused through a puff of smoke, he was still a little sleepy.

The Russian smirked, hoping Oliver wouldn't notice the funny dialogue on his account he had been exchanging with Brian. He allowed his eyes to trail the Frenchman, relaxing back in his chair, his slender fingers holding the long white cigarette. There was something persuasive in the metallic eyes, as if the gentle feminine man was _attempting_ to get a point across. Sergei thought he was funny and took away his cigarette, rubbing it out in the small ashtray.

"You have my absolute attention." He noticed Oliver blink and grab for the cigarette pack.

"Don't do that." He stated somewhat angrily. _What does he think he's doing? _As Oliver lit another slender cigarette Sergei had snatched it from his mouth.

"I don't want you stinking up _my _table." The Russian exclaimed turning back to see Brian's answer. Oliver remained starring at him with his lips parted.

_WhiteRussian: Hey Borya, you still alive? You'll never guess who my _boss _is… :)_

_SamogonBastar: I've managed to survive 72 hours without either you or our _captain_ thank you… and NO, I couldn't guess who your baguette boss is… :P_

_WhiteRussian: The vodka didn't survive…did it? I'll give you a hint…he has a _horn.

_SamogonBastard: What the fuck? No…the vodka DIDN'T make it. _

_WhiteRussian: Come on; use those few sombre brain cells… _

_SamogonBastard: I am sober… I gave the vodka to Pavlov to make him shut up :) :-&_

_WhiteRussian: You let the twerp drink? Tala have mercy :P :)_

_SamogonBastard: You can't tell him…he'll kill me!_

_WhiteRussian: :) You guess who my boss is I don't tell. _

_SamogonBastard: F*U*C*K*Y*O*U…fine…..so he has a HORN :D:D:D you checked that out already did you? _

_WhiteRussian: Typing cannot relieve my frustration…I NEED to hit you._

_SamogonBastard: Tough luck… so come one…give me a hint already…a HORN isn't helpful… _

_WhiteRussian: A little rich bastard with a sparkly horn…_

_SamogonBastard: FUCK MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA; NO MAN, YOU CANNOT TAKE ORDERS FROM THE FAIRY UNICORN! _

_WhiteRussian: Why not? We took orders from Boris…anyway I see it this is an improvement. _

_SamogonBastard: Come on __Seryozha you used to be a military man..._

_WhiteRussian: Yeah…we know how soldiers end up…don't we?_

_SamogonBastard: So what's the pretty boy like…you know…up front and personal…did you check out his HORN yet? :)_

_WhiteRussian: The twisted depths of your perverted mind so often remind me of my own… :) I don't think bedding the boss is a good plan of action._

_SamogonBastard: SEX is always a TARGET and you were a decent tactician…_

_WhiteRussian: You should know…bedding the captain and all… :P Want to compare notes?_

_SamogonBastard: I knew there was a reason you're my best friend ;) Spill it; did he make you sweat at night?_

_WhiteRussian: I've only been here a single night so no but he did make me hot and salty in the kitchen._

_SamogonBastard: Who'd say spinach head had it in him? You're not easy to distract in the kitchen…_

_WhiteRussian: Unless we're talking about you setting the table on fire while making samogon…or Ian launching Wyborg BY ACCIDET into the borsch… or Tala playing with the cutlery…_

_SamogonBastard: Yeah…we sure did have some SCARY ASS DINNERS :P Ya know you'll miss us._

_WhiteRussian: Like a heart attack…_

_SamogonBastard: It's love if we make your heart stop :D _

_WhiteRussian: You're getting soft. _

_SamogonBastard: Ditch spinach head! Come cook for me! I haven't had a good zharkoye since you left… You know I need my meat._

_WhiteRussian: I didn't expect you to miss me already :) Why not go visit Tala, he can provide all the _meat_ you need?…;) _

_SamogonBastard: Oh _the captain_ has been _real busy_ with _Kai_ and suddenly I've become a _distraction… _Fuck him!_

_WhiteRussian: It's not like that… You _know_ he can't live without you…Its downright pathetic. He's just real fired up about this scholarship…you know he can't afford to loose that._

_SamogonBastard: He can't AFFORD to loose me. _

_WhiteRussian: Grow up Borya or you'll make him loose you. My boss is here. POKA!_

Cerulean eyes noticed Oliver leaning towards the screen and he shut the laptop. The Frenchman arched an eyebrow.

"Did I interrupt something?" Oliver played coy and the Russian noticed, he smirked.

"Nothing you can't make up for." His voice felt hoarse and he took a sip of the coffee.

Oliver was watching him intently. _I wonder how he would MAKE me make up for it? _"Since you won't allow me to smoke…I'd say we're even."

"I didn't forbid you to smoke, you're _my_ boss remember? I simply _implied_ you can't smoke _here._" There was a brutal honesty in Sergei's voice. "So…you still have to make up for it."

Silver eyes grimed at the sharpness of it and Oliver leaned in putting his elbow on the table. "Do tell, how could I possibly compensate you for your grief?" A faint smirk played on his lips and Sergei leaned back crossing his arms.

"You know any nice place to swim?" Oliver blinked; of course he _knew_ a _nice_ place to swim.


	3. Chapter 3

The Laguna was almost deserted; it was a local beach so the tourists hadn't claimed it…yet. The large stone shoreline broke off and turned to a nice pebbled beach with a clear entry to the sea. The clear blue sky was painted with small white clouds and the Sun was burning down at the surface of the water. It was a proper august day and Oliver breathed in the salty scent.

Oliver sat on a short stone cliff beneath a large pine tree growing out of the shallow earth. It was his favourite place to sit and read and relax. Sergei threw his large blue towel over the pine tree needles before sitting on it, right next to the Bollinger heir. The Russian pulled down the broad button down over his head and remained in the cream coloured, longish, boxer swimwear. The pockets of the boxers were decorated in cerulean blue and Oliver found himself starring. All the things he dared not imagine when he first watched Sergei in the kitchen were plain sight now and he wasn't the only one checking out the Russian. There was an intake of air from the local girls when Sergei pulled his shirt off and Oliver was concentrating on keeping his mouth closed.

Weather it was from his soldier background or Sergei was simply adamant about exercise didn't really bother Oliver in the slightest. He dragged his eyes over the rippled six pack tensing as the Russian moves and over the bubbly chest he had the urge to poke with a finger. Petrov had broad shoulders and strong, muscular arms Oliver knew were at least twice the size of his own. The arousal mixed with a sensation of inferiority…consciousness of his own lithe features.

His eyes stuck to the rim of the boxers, holding firmly against the hips, breaking off the line of the abdomen hinting lower. _OhMyGodOhMYGodOhMyGod...I shouldn't look…I shouldn't lust…not like this…it's not decent…it's not normal… _ He felt pressure building up in his chest, heat that couldn't be ascribed to the sun. The green haired heir hadn't even heard Sergei speaking…there was no sound and no focus before he noticed the Russian crouch in front of him, smirking devilishly.

"I've been known to leave people breathless but no one's expression boosted my ego _quite_ like yours." The smirk was playful but he couldn't stop smiling. Sergei hadn't felt that…ever…being in a team with Tala and Brian made his chiselled body no exception, rather a rule and no one before noticed _him_ out of his brothers. Metallic eyes locked with his as consciousness returned to the _fairy unicorn_ and Sergei's smirk widened. Oliver was ashamed and he felt the blush creeping up on him, like a traitorous bastard that didn't allow a good lie to save him from the embarrassment of the situation.

_The little unicorn has a secret. His secret is he likes boys. He likes boys a lot and he's very lustful and very obvious but he's so bashful and so very uncertain…_ What first began as a private joke in the Russian's mind dulled in humour as Oliver's eyes reveal his panic. Sergei turned his gaze to the water to give the green haired chef some leeway.

"Aren't you coming into the water?" It was a neutral question; he gifted his French companion a way out.

"Not today" Oliver managed to answer, trailing Sergei's profile.

"Suit yourself…" The Russian answered jumping from the short cliff and onto the pebbled beach. Oliver watched him tread his way to the water; long, defined muscle lining his spine and he didn't even _dare_ look at the bottom. He gazed over to the giggling girls, eyes plastered over Sergei. He leaned against the trunk of the tree, finding some solace in the shade. How should he take his clothes off after seeing _that?_ He didn't have a bad physique and his lean muscles were rather defined but they were just so _inferior_ and just so _lean._ The other issue swelling in his gut was the fact Sergei _noticed…_the Russian _knew. What the Hell do I do now?_

After a good half an hour, when his nerves calmed and he decided to act as if nothing had happened he noticed the blond coming from the water towards him. Sergei ran his hands through his wet hair but the curls kept stubbornly falling around cerulean eyes. Oliver flinched; he had seen a good number of beautiful men and beautiful women…_all courtesy of Giancarlo…_but the way he couldn't tear his eyes away from the almost luminous blue orbs unnerved him…a lot. He managed to close his eyes, so he wouldn't focus on little water drops sliding down pale skin and so he would be able to put together a coherent sentence when Sergei returned.

"Are you feeling better?" The rough voice inquired and he sat on his towel. _Look at me like that again…_

"Yes." Oliver was looking at the water, at sailboats in the distance… _Don'tlookDon'tlookDon'tlook…_

He _felt_ cerulean eyes watch him and he was focused on the blond from the corner of his eye but he didn't dare turn back…not yet…not until that shirt was pulled on again.

Sergei watched the mercury eyes for a few moments; dragged a gaze over the elegant cheekbone and over the yaw. There was something frail in Oliver's skin, in the pale long neck barely peeking from behind the purple silk scarf. The orange and cream stripped shirt was broad but held tightly with a large and somewhat strange belt defining the younger man's waist. Creamy white pants followed the line of the Oliver's thighs, leading to brown sandals in tone with the belt. A white beret was on the young man's head and orange/brown goggles. Sergei was annoyed at the scarf, it clashed (not that fine clothes interested him) and it was so strangely out of season. He reached out and pulled one of the corners, untying the artsy knot and leaving the lilac silk in his palm.

"Hey!" The unnerved protest caused Oliver to look at him again and then fall silent. _What's he doing?_

Sergei returned the scarf to the outstretched hand somewhat dazed. _What the Hell am I doing?_ "I didn't think it fit…besides…it's too warm for a scarf." He was explaining himself to Oliver and to his own bedazzled subconscious.

"I like for things to not fit…there should always be the one odd thing." _Just like me._ The younger man's explanation was complete gibberish in the Russian's mind and he simply shrugged. "Besides…next time just tell me." _Why? I liked the fact he took it off…I liked it a lot. He shouldn't have. I shouldn't have shivered as he did. Shut up._

The Russian shrugged again, noticing the sun had dried off his skin, he pulled on the shirt, his hair was still wet but it would dry off as they walked. He wanted to get back to the apartment, at least for a while before he went to the restaurant. There were _things_ he _needed_ to address first, not to mention taking a shower and changing clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't take the Frenchman an entire 24 hours to make him hot and bothered and he didn't like it at all. He didn't like the fact he had to jerk off in the shower because he couldn't get the _need_ to suck on that pale neck out of his head. _How the Hell am I supposed to work like this?_

The Russian had pulled on clean clothes and rummaged through the fridge for some food that had been left for him. He had about an hour before he had to leave for work. The medium sized apartment was quaint and very Mediterranean with large balconies and wall sized windows. It obviously never got cold…not like it did in Moscow, most definitely not. He turned on the laptop as he sat to eat; he wondered weather Brian had left any more messages.

As the IM loaded he noticed he had a last message from Brian and continued to read it as he ate.

_SamogonBastard: You know what sucks? That Tala's going to get an education and become something while I'm still going play security in some crack house…why would he want to stick around for that? POKA!_

Considering his own issues he didn't have the will to nanny Brian, at the same time he knew Borya must have been feeling rather fucked up…with everyone leaving and him staying behind in that run down hole of a flat in Moscow, sacrificing his life for a few ruble. Kuznetstov was online.

_WhiteRussian: Fuck feeling sorry for yourself, fuck drinking vodka and complaining how Tala's got it good! I don't want you to die for some pathetic rich bastard taking it up the arm; we've been through too much to let it all go down that way. Swallow some pride and go work for Kai, you may find it degrading but you're the only one he offered a job. He didn't extend that curtsey to the twerp, me or our captain._

_SamogonBastard: Hey __Seryozha! Did you rub the boss's horn for good luck? :D_

_WhiteRussian: Stop avoiding the subject… _Spencer frowned while chewing, he would much rather have discussed the unicorn.

_SamogonBastard: You're all fucking with me...about the job. It makes me want to stick it out just to spite you._

_WhiteRussian: You have no right to be that selfish._

_SamogonBastard: I know…I spoke to Kai when you left. I start Monday. Now I have to hate the cocky bastard even more._

_WhiteRussian: It's not his fault he's Voltaire's grandson. He didn't get much better treatment than the rest of us._

_SamogonBastard: Bla Bla I've heard it all before…about Kai's time in the abbey. I don't hate him because he sprung from the balls of a maniac. I hate him because he's taking over. He's calling the shots._

_WhiteRussian: You're worried about Tala?_

_SamogonBastard: I've known him before the abbey and after…he's getting softer, he's loosing the edge. We need him to remain a leader and I can't have Hiwatari assing himself in his place. _

_WhiteRussian: Well, we all know he can't ass Valkov's place with you ;)_

_SamogonBastard: No but he might be trying to dick MY place with Tala._

_WhiteRussian: Then why the hell are you whining to me about it? Go make sure Valkov knows where his ass belongs. Literally. _ There was something nauseating about discussing such things so brutally honestly but that's how it always was inside the team, from emotional meltdowns to constipation. It felt good to be away from it for a while and at the same time it was strange not having someone to confide in. Sergei remembered how they used to move like a pack, this new found solitary was a blessing and a curse.

_SamogonBastard: You're right, I'll go down on the weekend. You really picked a bad place to go to the seaside you know that? ;)_

_WhiteRussian: I'm working._

_SamogonBastard: Real HARD ;) I bet…don't forget your mission. Eyes on the TARGET. POKA!_

Brian was no help at all, the blond frowned, would he have been any help had he told him? Sergei doubted it. Brian's love advice usually consisted of jumping his partner, intoxicating his partner and keeping his partner safe.


	5. Chapter 5

He was free for the evening, considering the feast they prepared yesterday and Oliver was starring at the ceiling, waiting for Giancarlo to text him about cocktails later in the evening. He really _needed_ to talk to his Italian friend.

He squirmed around the bed, exhausted from his little _adventure. I hadn't finished like that since I can't remember…_ The thought itself was making him blush and the purple scarf was inadvertently ruined. The radio was humming in the back of the room and little beads of sweat still stuck to the small of his back.

_Come to the yacht around 9, berth 4896. _

The lithe man sighed and threw the mobile phone on the table. It would be best he slept now…he'd need it to survive the night. It was hard to relax though and focus on the darkness of shut eyelids when _ideas and cravings_ pushed themselves to the forefront…

…Sundown was gorgeous, sultry and seductive, blood reds spilled over a vanilla sky cracked in places by cool purple clouds. Oliver wasn't even watching where he was going, as his eyes stuck to the palette of colour. He could visualise it as a dessert of vanilla cream with cherries and blueberry dressing flambéed to a tantalizing perfection.

"Oliver?" The high strung voice snapped him from his reverie. "You almost missed us?" Giancarlo stretched out a hand to help his friend leap over to the yacht. "Good you made it, the others are already here."

The green haired man noticed Johnny at the bow and Robert was most probably below. This gathering of rich heirs made him fairly certain secrets would be discussed and in great detail. Enrique untied the ropes and Johnny manoeuvred the boat to pull out the anchor. Oliver joined Enrique at the stern as he was taking the boat somewhat away from shore.

"What's the reason for a prominent gathering?" Oliver asked smiling and Giancarlo smirked in response.

"Robert's engaged, well, his parents engaged him." Oliver watched into the darkness in the distance and Enrique decided on a proper place for the boat…

It was rare to see sombre Robert indulging in a drink but he wasn't particularly picky that evening. Enrique was his usual chatty and upbeat self and Johnny was as fiery as always, if not more after the few bourbons.

"So, do we know the lucky girl?" Enrique mused, his bright smile stretching over his face. There was something lazy about Giancarlo's eyes, they always appeared drowsy or seductive. Oliver turned his gaze to the smug and brooding German. Robert was never a chatterbox and much less a chuckler but the shadowy depressing expression was slowly dragging down the party.

"She's French." He put simply, taking another sip of the Champagne (from Champagne).

"I could know her?" Metallic eyes rested worried on his captain. He knew Robert must have been devastated…he knew because Robert had told him he'd fallen in love…but…not with a French heiress.

"I don't care." Robert spat and Johnny growled from the corner.

"Fuck your parent's wishes! We're not kids any more, you're a MAN and a MAN chooses his own wife." He slurred as he shouted but his fist slammed against the wooden table repeatedly as he spoke.

"Don't you think I _tried_?" Robert's chestnut eyes narrowed angrily. "I argued with them for hours but they decided I _had to_ put _duty_ before my emotions."

"Fuck them! The only reasons you're so loyal are you feeling for the crest; do they want you to deny those emotions as well?" Johnny took a swill after he finished. Oliver listened to the debate intently and Giancarlo was leaning back in a fluffy chair.

"Father said he'd disown me if I challenged him on their decision." Chestnut eyes shone dully and a firm pale hand gripped the glass tightly. Oliver watched Robert's jaw clench. _I've never experience such anger…Robert…I want to tell him it's going to be all right. He's a friend. He deserves it. Everyone should deserve to be with the person they love._

"Bastard!" Giancarlo spat with an anger the green haired chef found rather unfamiliar, it was the only time the Italian made a remark about any of their parents.

"Then we'll just have to crash the wedding…as often as necessary." There was a matter-of-factlyness in Johnny's voice and none of them doubted he would come through on that decision.

"Make sure you don't pick my family as the caterers and I'll make sure to poison the food…_mildly._" Giancarlo arched an eyebrow at Oliver's offer. _A little nausea breaks down any festive occasion…besides sending an entire royal entourage to the loo might be rather amusing. I just have to make sure it isn't our company or we'd loose reputation._ Oliver was seriously considering the offer.

"I'll make sure to put the damsel in awkward situations…some bad press should put your parents off. Leave the intrigue to me." Giancarlo added, inspired by their little conspiracy. "Don't worry…it will be true…_everyone_ has dirt in their closet."

"Shit." Johnny stated. "I'll just bring my family and scotch." Oliver mused about McGregor's offer… _God have mercy upon us…Least his uncle get into a wine cellar again…_

Robert began chuckling and then laughing outright… after the initial surprise they all joined him.

"I would never have imagined…" the noble man said through the laugh. "My_ team _would rally to my rescue." They hadn't been a beyblading team in years but they managed to remain friends as much as their status would allow. There was something warm and comforting about the realization that despite their difficulties there was loyalty between them…and…honesty. Oliver looked down his empty champagne glass.

Giancarlo smirked and poured Oliver another glass. "And you, Oliver, sounded rather desperate over the phone?"

The silver eyed man didn't like the fact his _friend_ threw the spotlight on him. He smiled looking down in the bubbly liquid.

"I may have developed…_wants _toward someone I shouldn't." Raised eyebrows greeted him

"You're a Bollinger and you're French, there's very _little_ you _shouldn't_ do." Johnny stated mispronouncing his surname.

"So did you make your _wants_ obvious?" The Italian asked smirking.

"It may have inadvertently become obvious." The green haired man answered through a giggle.

"How should we give you proper advice when you keep dancing around the heart of the matter?" Robert's steel voice demanded clarity.

"We have a new chef…he's…" _I can't find a proper word to describe him…gorgeous…no too theatrical…sexy…too plain…hot…not good enough…_

"I didn't know you were a _bufty_?" Johnny's obvious statement stopped the silver eyed man's musing…he had forgotten he hadn't yet revealed that titbit to the Scott.

"Is that a problem?" Giancarlo challenged in Oliver's place.

"I don't care, just didn't know…should have guessed…he _is_ French." Oliver rolled his eyes but Johnny just smirked. He had _misconceptions_ islanders usually had about the French but he never let anyone insult Oliver other than himself. "So this cookie is the _haws_ of your dreams?"

"I think he's had too much." Giancarlo stated, since the infiltration of Scottish words usually meant Johnny would soon be out of it.

"What does that mean?" Robert asked attempting to focus on the hothead lizard's gaze.

"Insufferably good" He slurred smirking sharply. Raising a glass to toast them and swallowing it down quickly.

Oliver blinked…_ the haws? Well it certainly is strange enough to fit…unless Johnny mixed up his words again… _"He is _insufferably good_." The green haired man in the end concluded. Good Scots had a word for it.

"Are you worried about him working with you?" The captain saw everything in a practical and obviously correct light and quicksilver eyes remained gazing at him for a long moment.

"Yes…but he's also…a beyblader." He drank a little of the alcohol to pause the conversation.

"Oh?" The Italian chippered, his baby blues shimmering amused.

"Someone we know?" Robert crossed his arms as he spoke and Oliver squirmed in his chair.

Silently Oliver began muttering in his glass. "Sergei…from the Blitzkrieg-"

"No!" Giancarlo exclaimed cutting off Oliver's further explanation. Johnny snored in his chair. "He's a chef?" The initial shock was overtaken by confusion as Giancarlo questioned further.

Oliver nodded. "He's an excellent chef."

"He's straight?" Robert offered, attempting to find the problem. He had known quite a bit about the Russian team, more so than the nobles with him on the yacht. He had financed Tala's grant with Kai. The half Russian half Japanese was a shrewd businessman but Robert respected him for his excellent decisions. It reminded him of some contracts waiting to be approved in his office. He sigh.

"I don't know." Oliver took a sip of his bubbly liquid.

"Well, better find out than." Giancarlo mused with an amused smirk on his lips. The gossip king was almost drooling even though the three men sitting in the room were excluded from his poison ring-around.

"How?" _How to not seem obvious? How to not ruin a professional relationship? I don't want to put him in an awkward position in the kitchen. *blush* Don'tThinkDon'tThinkDon'tThink…_

"Oh, just be your flirty little self…you have _no idea_ what you do to men." The Italian answered and the green haired heir felt a boost of confidences at his friend's words. He twirled the glass in his fingers smirking.

"I could lay on the charm, couldn't I?" He finished the glass.

Johnny stumbled from his chair snorting "Amr…fuckult…piss." The unrecognizable drabble escaped them until Robert, as the only one fairly sober, noticed Johnny had gone on deck. They had already once had to fish him out of the sea. They followed the tall man out to notice Johnny peeing in the wind. It provided an amusing and laughter filled end for the evening.

* * *

Hi! Just popping into mention I got the Scottish words of an online dictionary :) Hope you like the story so far we're just warming up :)


	6. Chapter 6

The bright sunlight was uncommon to the Russian and his second morning was rather uncomfortable. The strong man turned to the side murmuring. The alarm clock on his mobile phone was screaming; a heavy hand searched for the off button before groaning. It was already late and he would have to skip the swim he was planning. Lazily the Russian pulled out of bed and headed for an icy shower.

Cold water reminded of home and drops of water chilled his heated skin. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the stream. _What horrible…dirty things I did here last…_He chuckled into the hum of the water. There was something amusing about having the hots for _his boss_ and about _the boss_ loosing the ability to speak when he saw him shirtless. He stopped himself from thinking about the _spinach headed fairy unicorn rich bastard_ as he felt his member swelling.

After a nice lunch and some instant coffee Sergei headed for the restaurant. He had a tough day yesterday but the workings of a professional kitchen were similar everywhere in the world… He knew today would be even tougher, because _he_ would be there… besides it would have helped had he not been typing away with Tala to some three in the morning. He would have to cut back the time his former teammates needed him, he hadn't been gone an entire week and the band of brothers was becoming frantic.

He changed to the standard white uniform when he got to the restaurant, considering the evening special he counselled with the chefs and the kitchen staff on the usual proceedings and continued to check the stock room for supplies. The morning shift was still holding the fort down so he took his time. The muscular man still hadn't gotten a complete feel for the kitchen so getting there early allowed him to create mental maps. It was similar to surveillance and scouting the grounds before infiltration. Sergei had merely learned to adapt his talents.

"Bonjour!" Somewhat huskily he heard Oliver shout from the entrance. The green haired man stood in his usual white attire, a little purple scarf tied around his neck. _I'm going to have to take that off again_. Amused the large Russian contemplated. There was something about Oliver's eyes however that somewhat unnerved him; the gaze was more vibrant and more intrusive than last he remembered. A little smirk was playing on the lithe man's lips as he saw he aroused Sergei's interest.

Oliver shook hands as the chefs departed from the morning shift. He had been watching Sergei talk to some of the staff and laugh rather amusedly before looking over to him. It was taking all of Oliver's concentration to stop a blush. _I just need to start cooking…nothing can distract me then…not even him._

The prayers of both were answered when the late lunch and dinner crowds began barging into the restaurant. A frenzied dance of kitchen help and their pushing around the large kitchen followed the music of open flames and boiling, frying and smashing, enriched by running water and pots and pans clanging. This waltz continued as the golden sun dipped beneath the rim of the world and even later through the evening darkness. Beautiful white plates with golden rim lined the serving counter, finely decorated and arranged with sweet and savoury smelling dishes. This constant tension forced their minds to focus…they couldn't think of each other, or troubles, or family members and team mates. It was work and work had to be finished. After 11 p.m. the orders died down, the restaurant being open only until midnight. Some chatter now spilled amongst the employees as the kitchen was scrubbed and the dishes were washed.

Oliver took off the large white hat as he finally sat down in the back room. Sergei snapped his neck to the sides, massaging the tense muscle. They were alone in the small room. The Russian chuckled leaning back against the wall. Silver eyes watched him for a while but the deep rumble of laughter wasn't stopping.

"Come on, make me laugh as well. Don' be _that _selfish." There was a playful anger in the Frenchman's voice as he stood and walked closer to the Russian. Cerulean eyes dragged over him slowly and Oliver felt as if he was being undressed. He focused on not blushing and watched the vibrant blues in interest. Sergei was still laughing.

"I _order_ you to tell me!" A slight frown displayed on Oliver's features as he crossed his arms. The Russian's face turned sombre and cerulean eyes watched him almost angrily. This sudden switch of emotion made the green haired man shudder and twitch back as the taller man approached him. _P...p…perhaps I should have listened to Max…_

The Russian leaned in, using Oliver's fear frozen posture to tug on the corner of the violet scarf. The purple silk slid along the rough surface of his skin. _I wonder if his skin feels like that..._ _I really shouldn't torture myself like this…at least the shower won't be lonely…_His lips pulled to a smirk as he whispered in Oliver's ear.

"It's been bothering me the entire day." Sergei's silent laughter spilled over his neck and Oliver noticed his body tensing as the tickle of breath ran down the place he loved to be bitten…loved to be licked. _OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod… _ His fingers wrapped around the silk Sergei had been holding, he smirked, Giancarlo had been right The Russian had no idea who he was provoking. Almost in beat with his racing heart Oliver's other hand hooked at one of the buttons on the Russian's shirt, locking him in the little bow he was in since whispering into his ear. When the green haired man leaned in curls of his hair tickled Sergei's cheek and his lips brushed against his ear.

"It's going to keep bothering you the entire night so why don't you take it home with you?" Slender fingers slipped the silk scarf into the Russian's pocket, sliding so very unassumingly over the firm chest. He _felt_ Sergei catch his breath. _ I want to fuck him…I need to have this provocative little bastard squirming beneath me…God I need to cool down…I need to STOP. _There was something hurried as Sergei pushed the lithe man away. His eyes still drooled over the green curls brushing against the pale skin. Oliver was smirking…_He certainly isn't straight…_ spirited silver eyes tickled the Russian's clenched jaw.

Neither of them could talk for a moment and the only sound in the room was their breathing.

"Is that your idea of a prize after a job well done?" Sergei collected his wits a few moments sooner and an arrogant smirk was playing on his lips.

"Would you like it to be?" Oliver whispered in answer, unsatisfied at the newfound distance between them. He relished the sexual tension and he almost whimpered expecting an answer. _Say something damn it…or…touch me…_

"It would certainly make me try harder." The smirk was still chiselled on his lips. Sergei crossed his arms simply to stop himself from reaching out to the _sultry little fairy unicorn…_ Sergei then turned away, opening the small locker, placing the silk scarf inside and unbuttoning his shirt. He _needed_ the distance or the little _princess_ would receive more than he bargained for. Oliver bit his lower lip, stuttering back to the chair. Sitting was good…he _needed to sit._ Sergei taking off his clothes wasn't helping, he traced the flexing muscle with a gaze and scars he hadn't noticed under the bright sunlight on the beach caught his attention. Sergei had many faint scars, hundreds of small scars over his back and one deeper gash spiralling diagonally over the muscle and curving over his waist to his naval. Oliver wanted to run his fingers over the damaged skin and he sat there with his lips parted.

Sergei turned arching an eyebrow. "Enjoying the show?" The barrel laughter filled the room but the Frenchman's expression hadn't changed. Sergei turned to the locker, placing fingers over a bullet wound close to his left shoulder. He had forgotten about the scars…as much as one can _forget_ such things. He pulled another shirt on quickly, a tangle of shame swelling in his abdomen. Oliver hadn't had time to drink in every piece of his body and with years most of the scars were only somewhat silvery patches of skin…they looked exquisite and must have been so very painful. He frowned as the light black shirt slid over the pale skin. His dissatisfaction escaped in a whine and he clapped his hands over his mouth in reflex. He had no idea how much that little whine meant to the Russian as he turned smirking. He undid the knot on the rim of the white pants and wondered when Oliver would finally realize he was about to strip almost completely. "This is not in my job description…you are aware?"

Oliver chuckled and turned his back to the man, deciding he had to change clothes as well. He really didn't want to reveal his toned but frail body to the Russian…there was a distinct fear that…_What if he no longer likes me…? Does he like me? He must…he shuddered…he shuddered…_ the sensation of the breath trailing down his neck ruggedly was still there and he closed his eyes to savour it for a moment before pulling off his shirt.

Sergei closed the locker, pushing the silk scarf in his shirt pocket. The large Russian turned and decided he wasn't in a hurry to get home…he might as well stay and watch the show. Oliver was lean but his muscles were clearly defined and almost velvety at glances. The flawless white skin looked like dipped in vanilla and as the curls of loose green hair fell down his back it made him seem all the more gentle.

He wasn't Sergei's type, he was _feminine_ and _frail. _ The Russian would have been afraid to touch him, least the man crumbled beneath his heavy hold and his rugged skin. The former soldier was used to rough lovers, found and forgotten in a single night or occasional wordless meetings of passion…this sensation of _flirting_ was something he used in amusement but not real interest. So he found himself at a strange crossroad of _wanting something that wasn't good for him…_ and _wanting someone he wasn't good for…_ and ultimately_ wanting to a point it completely devour all other sensations…_ Funny thing was all the roads were the same…he didn't have a way out because, honestly, The Russian didn't want one. He was free and he was happy and he had someone beautiful to look at; his brothers were _alive _and all the nightmares were slowly leaving. Never in his life, had Sergei Petrov been able of imagining such , not even when Boris was _surprisingly gunned down on the streets of Moscow_ and they had received a flat from the BBA, had he even fathomed he would be _happy._

"Will you come to the masquerade tomorrow?" He looked at his watch, "Well, today" The French accented sugary voice snapped him from reverie and he looked down on the dressed young chef.

"Masquerade?" the Russian raised an eyebrow.

"A tourist attraction, the entire town puts on masks and there are lots of street entertainers. It's not a proper carnival it begins at five in the afternoon and lasts till dawn the next morning. Those awake take off their masks then…" The Bollinger heir was rather looking forward to it, he and Giancarlo always have fun during the masquerade and it was his favourite summer day.

Sergei shrugged tiredly, he wanted to go home. The arousal from earlier was getting rather painful, pushed down by sheer will…


	7. Chapter 7

Sergei wasn't thinking about going to the masquerade, he had promised to chat with Ian and besides he needed a rest. There was plenty of time to change his mind until the afternoon however and Sergei sat on his little balcony, laptop on the small iron wrought table. A large vine had been twisted over an iron frame and provided wonderful shade during most of the day.

_WhiteRussian: I see you've changed your nickname again…_

_KiTTyCannibal: Yeah, PuPPySlaughteR wasn't keeping me happy any more… Things are pretty fucked here without you._

_WhiteRussian: I thought you couldn't wait for me to get my gorgon maw out of your business? _

_KiTTyCannibal: Yeah well I'm so miserable without you it's almost like you're here :P_

_WhiteRussian: What horror has reared its ugly head?_

_KiTTyCannibal: Brian's in the hospital. His last night on the job didn't go that well. _

_WhiteRussian: What the fuck happened? Who's watching you?_

_KiTTyCannibal: I'm watching me. I'm old enough._

_WhiteRussian: Not according to the law you aren't, not for the next five moths at least. I can't believe they fucked it up…_

_KiTTyCannibal: Tala calls every day to make sure I have food and go to my classes regularly. Yeah, about the feather brain, for once he really isn't to blame. They beat him up pretty bad…I mean he did break a few bones before he went down but yah…wasn't enough. Hiwatari says he'll be out in a couple of days. It isn't easy to keep Kuznetstov in bed-rest._

_WhiteRussian: Stay out of trouble until this mess cleans up… What's with Valkov?_

_KiTTyCannibal: He's completely out of it, I think he seizured when they told him about Brian so he's been camping out in the hospital. _

_WhiteRussian: You going to make it?_

_KiTTyCannibal: Don't bust your balls on my account. I'm resourceful._

_WhiteRussian: Yeah, you are but watch your back._

_KiTTyCannibal: Don't worry we've strapped the apartment and I have a couple of switchblades on my person at all times…even some nerve gas in an old WWII lighter… _

_WhiteRussian: Figures you'd turn the flat into a bunker when left to your devices. _

_KiTTyCannibal: I would grin in your face if you were here but from what Borya told me you're polishing horns in the south of France… Can't say I ever imagined you chillin' on hot beaches with rich heirs. _

_WhiteRussian: It's not like that. I'm just a chef. I'll be sending you all the extra cash so better make sure you keep that big nose in a book. _

_KiTTyCannibal: Oy, you're not my father._

_WhiteRussian: No, because you'd cut my throat if I was. I'm something much worse because I know you well enough to know what you're capable of and not feel pity at your sob stories. So don't fuck with me or I'll have to pay you an ugly visit when you don't expect me._

_KiTTyCannibal: I'm pissing my pants :P_

_WhiteRussian: Good, otherwise I'll be taking my minigun to your miniature soldiers collection._

_KiTTyCannibal: You still have that thing? :D I thought Tala made you pawn it at the junkyard when we couldn't pay the phone bill?_

_WhiteRussian: I took care of it… I take care of shit…that's why you all love me so much. _

_KiTTyCannibal: Fucking good for you :) When are you coming home?_

_WhiteRussian: For a week around Christmas…_

_KiTTyCannibal: Better bring some fancy ass presents._

_WhiteRussian: I'm hoping I manage something better than a fruitcake._

_KiTTyCannibal: Hell yeah, you'll be making Christmas dinner! Makes my moth water already… hey Tala's texting me…_

_WhiteRussian: Yeah, he watching Kuznetstov? _

_KiTTyCannibal: Yep, Brian is insisting I bring beer and make my way over there. We'll talk later?_

_WhiteRussian: Don't worry about it. Tell them to fuck the rabid monkey that impregnated their mother on public television for leaving you alone like that. _

_KiTTyCannibal: :rotfl: I'm going to have to write your shit down… POKA!_

Sergei decided a swim would do him good. He loved swimming and anything about the sea or the ocean. He walked around the apartment in search of his big towel when his phone rang. There wasn't a big number of people who had his number and even less he expected to be phoning him. He flipped it open.

"_Yes?"_

"_It's me."_

"…"

"_I'm coming tonight."_

"…"

"_I'll text you when my plane lands." _

"_I'll be waiting."_

The caller cut of the line and Sergei blinked. He hadn't expected that. He threw the big towel over his shoulder after putting on his swimwear and continued with the first part of his plan undisturbed.


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver climbed off the boat smirking, waving for Giancarlo to follow. Orange, red and yellow lights reflected on the water's surface and the sea glittered black during the night. His pompous mask was frilly and heavy on his head; it took a while before he managed to balance the Brazilian carnival styled lime green and gold headgear. Giancarlo was dressed like a roman general, smirking amused at the two girls dressed passé to the style.

"Robert and Johnny are insane for missing this!" Giancarlo mused smiling brightly at his friend. They had toasted a couple of times during the evening and faint dizziness twirled their amusement. They made their way towards the square. Shiny banners waved from every lamp-post and a sea of colourfully dressed characters walked down the street to greet them. Oliver was having _fun_, greeting complete strangers, toasting with anything at hand, sharing a few laughs and moving on. It was a bazaar of faces ranging from Angelique to Demonesque.

Oliver and Giancarlo walked hand in hand, each sporting a giggling fan girls or socialite on the outer arm and as they played during the evening they changed their female companions often. It was a samba dance of laughter, rippling through the Frenchman's soul. The free-spirited amusement burst of laughter and circus performers. Fire spitters and sword eaters spilled through the streets accompanied by an infantry of jugglers, clowns and mimes. This colourful invasion was helped by gymnasts and snake women, dark skinned fortune tellers dragged to Hell by the weight of their gold earrings. Waves of hungry masses were served by street vendors and amused by the rhythm of different bands occupying each square. Oh Oliver was _amused;_ the sultry artisan _couldn't get enough._ Wine had gotten to his head and the red shade spilling over his cheeks announced it. Giancarlo's tong fumbled as much as his did and they laughed at the inability to speak and the absolute wantonness of the evening. He could forget everything in nights like those. He could forget himself.

So they twirled their frilly masks and laughed with strangers; wrote down phone-numbers on the skin and later forgot all about them. The Frenchman coquetted with anything that was willing…because he was _drunk_ and because he was _needy._ Eventually silver eyes fell on _him_, for how could it be anyone else? Clad in a simple plain black ensemble of a button down shirt and broad navy pants. Blonde hair mussed back with little care but such _sleek_ effect. His face was covered by a simple black mask, hiding the upper part of his face but allowing cerulean eyes to peer into the masses. How Oliver drooled at that sight, completely abandon of sane thought.

"Oh," Giancarlo flipped a hand before Oliver's eyes and peered into the direction his green haired friend was gazing. "Oh, _my_."

"Mhmn" The lithe man agreed.

"Is that your chef?" Giancarlo asked snorting, his lazy tong stumbling in the pronunciation. He didn't want to admit he was impressed…but he was.

"Oui" Oliver barely managed to piece together, dipping his tong in the sweet wine in the glass. The Italian gazed from his friend to the obvious centre of attention.

Sergei was sipping brandy…it was a woman's drink; he couldn't get drunk off brandy. The frenzy of people around him unnerved him; he wasn't used to the hassle. He was tense and he was on guard from some deep primal instinct. And this sensation of focus and twitchiness could not be dulled by time or by any amount of freedom; this instinct were _there_ and it was _forceful_. He didn't want to come down into the sea of faceless strangers, but the message insisted…_he_ insisted.

The Frenchman blinked at his friend, his brain couldn't work…so perhaps together they could come to a sane conclusion.

"Should I go over?" Almost desperately he pleaded to his friend and all Giancarlo did was smile brightly and shrug. Oliver decided to go…well, he hadn't _actually decided_ because deciding would imply giving it thought, he simply asked the question and began walking…without thought and without pause.

He was beaten to his target by a man who passed him with only brushing against him with a scarf; by a man who was somewhat taller and who took long, decisive steps; by a strong man with dual coloured hair. Oliver blinked, feeling Giancarlo wrapping a hand around his shoulder, steadying himself as much as giving affection.

The sombre and decisive man had a simple mask, plain white over the face…almost porcelain. They talked without introduction and they did not move as they spoke…as if words passed between them not even having to voice them…as if they could _read_ what the other was thinking…at least, that was how Oliver saw it and he was, for all intents and purposes, drunk. He didn't understand however, how someone had simply walked so firmly…almost hurting him with a stride and simply…took the object of his fascination away.

So he watched, sensing the laughter that made his belly ache silence leaving only sombre reasoning he would greet a painful morning. After a while of the conversation he noticed Sergei dump the drink into the nearby dumpster…his companion waited, almost annoyed at the interruption for Sergei to return. Angrily The Russian approached and tore off both his mask and the one of the arrival. There was a standstill and Oliver held his breath…hoping this disturbance would leave…would allow Sergei be surrendered to him. Instead Sergei led and the grim man followed silently.

"Kai Hiwatari" The Italian mused before jerking at his, usually bubbly, friend's hand. "Come on…let's find a place to dance."

Oliver nodded, still gazing at the hollow space…for a moment before Giancarlo pulled him away.


	9. Chapter 9

It felt like always…with the mechanics of a body. The breathing heap of flesh was warm beside him. Resting. Cerulean eyes starred at the moonlit ceiling. He listened to the breathing, without moving, less the perfect balance be broken. Least _the argument_ started again.

He could barely remember when it started…this…_service_…and with it this _dependency._ He had never questioned his role as the oldest. He did what had to be done. When his brothers were broken he picked up the pieces and he glued them together again. It had always been like that and there was always the knowledge they would never be abandoned…Petrov would always be there. He received little when asking for nothing. It was enough…it was _everything they could give_…nightmares, weakness and fear…and little pieces of belief and trust…_shattered lives…_

When the nightmares waned and the whipping cries of their master silenced they persevered…because they were fighters…because they were _made_ to _adapt and conquer_. The painfully slow freedom was inching along…moulding to a new and _brighter..._world?

Then the _prince_ came, he was strong, so he took the place of the _child_…and the _child_ kicked and screamed but it was better for him. Hiwatari returned to his origins and he reverted to the instinct. He could become one with them…because he _had been_ one with them and was brutally severed. The _red knight_ didn't _need _him and the _silver hunter_ didn't _want him. _Rather than _accepted_ he was _allowed_ to participate.

They didn't know the _prince_ sought a home with them…there was too much pain and frustration to notice…to allow the kindred to join. Petrov noticed; effort and silent support…the _need_ for their acceptance. To Hiwatari they were the only ones who could understand and offer safety. So they would suffer…and they would train…and they would coexist…and Hiwatari became a brother. It was later…when the adaptation slowly reverted them to human that Hiwatari came without words…or explanations… He _needed_ so Sergei _offered._ It bound them stronger but it didn't create _dependence…_not before.

There was little of the old ice in the crimson orbs now…there was _wanting _and_ trust_ and _loyalty. _Petrov just needed Hiwatari to keep them safe…when he _couldn't_. So they had become dependant at day just as strongly as during the night.

Sergei closed his eyes as the warm flesh curled closer. Hiwatari _was good for him_… So why was green all he could thing of?


	10. Chapter 10

He hated the sun in that moment. Squinting the migraine only intensified so Oliver turned to the other side and pulled the sheet over his head. There was insanity in his memory…and little more. He knew he greeted dawn already unmasked and lovingly fucked but the pure thought made him nauseous. It was his first one night stand and it didn't leave a good aftertaste. His cell phone rang sharply and he wanted to slam it against the wall. He truly believed one morning of peace was not a great deal to ask…yet…his family never agreed.

His legs felt wobbly as he stood and he squinted before opening his eyes. There was shimmery and feathery green, gold and white all over the room. He didn't remember the name of the hotel…or the name of his feverish lover. He looked at the message.

_Please bring the cookbook to chef Petrov and walk him through some of our specialties. _

He didn't need that…he didn't _want_ to go see the Russian. A refreshing shower wasn't helpful so he took some aspirin and drank fresh tomato juice for breakfast. He took his fine while to collect his wits about him. There was a frightening thought of Petrov _not being alone_… Oliver didn't know if he could survive seeing Sergei with Kai Hiwatari…because Kai Hiwatari was nothing like him and it would mean the Russian could never like _him._ The flow of annoying self-diagnosis crammed his brain as he tried to relax… It couldn't be stretched out any longer…he needed to get going…

The red roof of Sergei's villa appeared in the distance, the Mediterranean building was three stories tall and very quaint. Little apartments with large terraces spilling like waterfalls over the side of the building made it one of the most beautiful parts of the city. During summer the Riviera was brimming with people and the street was enriched with chatter and vibrant sounds of life. Oliver pushed the main doors open and proceeded to the second floor. He felt his heartbeat skipping as he slowly walked to the big white doors. He looked at his reflection in the nearby window and sigh. He had a scarf with a reason this time. His pale knuckles grabbed the gold knocker and slammed it gently into the wood's surface.

He listened intently to shuffles behind, swallowing the tension building up in his throat. The keys skipped in the lock and the door was forcibly opened. Oliver shivered slightly as wine red eyes drank him in and sharpened in anger. Hiwatari could frighten men at a glance and the furious stare he reigned down upon the silver-eyed noble fulfilled its destined effect. Oliver took a step back. Kai's hair had been towel dried and it spiked raggedly around his face, long pale-grey bangs falling over the hawk eyebrows and a predator's stare. His firm jaw was clenched and the pale cheeks wore no trace of his once trademark face-paint. Oliver's gaze slid over a profound, narrow and sharp nose, to swollen lips. Oh, Kai Hiwatari was _treacherously delectable_ and Kai Hiwatari was _shirtless_ and his muscular chest rippled with inhuman perfection. The Frenchman starred because the chest was also laden with scars…so very similar to Sergei's. He heard his heartbeat in his head as he explored the purple bruises over Hiwatari's neck, trailing down over his collar bone and only hinting what came later. It all overcame him in the few second Kai stood leaning in the doorway; hands in the pockets of his broad sweatpants.

"I'm looking for Sergei Petrov." There was a sudden need to be formal…to hide the crushing sensation of _betrayal? _

Kai pushed himself from the doorway and retreated deeper into the room. Oliver followed silently, closing the door behind him. The large living room spilled out onto the terrace and a long counter and an archway connected to the kitchen, so light and fresh air flowed freely throughout the rooms. Oliver noticed the double doors to the bedroom were open and casually glanced inside as he stepped further into the apartment.

It was something like self-inflicting harm as his eyes tripped over the wrinkles in the sheets and up the silk white scarf tied to the iron wrought bed at one end. Hiwatari didn't speak, he watched him while taking a seat at the counter. Oliver wondered how it felt to have those crimson orbs look at one lustfully because all he felt was sharp etched anger and ice…what further unnerved him was the overbearing _lack _of Petrov. His shirt was thrown casually over one of the chairs and Oliver noticed his phone was on the small coffee table.

He noticed Hiwatari turn his attention to the laptop, as if his presence in the room didn't matter. It was a while before he distantly acknowledged the sound of running water. The object of his fascination was in the shower. There was a strain to deny himself thinking about it. A sharp ring made him turn back to Hiwatari, the sombre man put the miniature wireless in his ears and spoke into the tiny microphone.

"Hiwatari" A statement of fact, without formalities and Oliver shuddered after hearing Kai's voice for the first time. If one could imagine molten steel topple elegantly in a riverbed of ice that was what Oliver _felt._ The muscular dual-haired man walked onto the terrace, continuing his conversation in Russian. Oliver looked about the room, he noticed Sergei had tied his scarf to the iron twirls of the frame of an oval mirror in the corridor. Somehow that calmed him…that something of _his_ was in the Russian's apartment.

He hadn't heard Sergei's footsteps on the marble tiled floor, obviously because the Russian was barefoot. Oliver's mouth opened when he noticed Sergei standing in the bedroom doorway hiding his privates with a wrap-around towel. Sergei's eyebrow arched, he was positively certain Oliver wasn't standing uncomfortably in his living room before he went into the shower.

"You looking for me." He stated it rather than asked, even though he would enjoy flirting with the green haired man in that precise moment he assumed the Frenchman was at wits end… He had the body language of a wet puppy…

The Russian's voice was husky and Oliver dragged his eyes over the object of his fascination painfully slowly…there were _scratches_…deep and demanding in his skin and…_bites_ taken so forcefully he could notice the line of Hiwatari's teeth. He shuddered, aware he had better answer.

"It may be a bad time…" He was aware it was but Sergei answered instantly.

"It isn't. Give me a moment." The Russian raised a single finger and disappeared behind the corner. Oliver allowed himself to breathe, gazing over to Hiwatari arguing on the terrace. Oliver knew he was, what was socially considered, beautiful and that his friends drooled over every inch of him…but…how would he compete with _Kai Hiwatari…world champion…multimillionaire…with a physique admired by Adonis himself…_ Oliver stopped thinking. He was dragging himself down and his pride wouldn't allow it. He lost a handsome chef…it wasn't the end of the world.

"Right, I'm done. What do you need?" Sergei told him smiling, dressed in his usual broad cream pants and a white button down. _I need you to make Kai Hiwatari go away…and drag me, rather, to that big bed of yours…_Oliver didn't voice his thoughts however and simply smiled in answer. He took a small leather bound book from his pocket and handed it to the Russian.

"Some of our most common recipes, it would be good if you knew them…of course these go under the confidentiality clause you signed." There was something liberating in being purely formal…for the first time since they met.

Sergei nodded while taking the little book from Oliver's pale fingers. The Russian didn't have any need to apologize for Hiwatari's presence…or even mention that fact. He flirted with Oliver but had absolutely nothing with the man, so he didn't even give the matter any consideration. Hiwatari broke the strange silence pulling on a shirt with a furious expression, Oliver watched as Sergei questioned him about it. The way Russian slipped of his tong was like someone was tapping the surface of the noble's skin…so very gently.

"_What happened?"_ Hiwatari could perhaps shut the rest of the world out but for his new brothers no frown or glare could even wobble their resolve. Hiwatari knew this but he still _tried_ glaring angrily before caving in and revealing the information.

"_How can one man cause such hassle?"_ This was spat with such anger that Oliver's eyebrows popped up even though he didn't understand… but Sergei only laughed…it was a bright laugh that filled the apartment and softened Hiwatari's features slightly.

"_What now?" _Sergei leaned on the counter, watching the red eyed man gather his belongings.

"_He assaulted a doctor…" _ Sergei laughed again at Kai's frustration.

"_Show him no mercy. I trusted you with them…" _What Sergei said held great weight and Kai stopped, he closed his eyes and ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"_I know you did…" _He wished Petrov hadn't but it was a selfish thought and he ignored it instantly. There was no mention of the night…of Hiwatari crawling to solace and balance before returning to provide a spine for the rest of the group. It was _normal_ to offer what another of them needed; there were no claims over such a thing even though sex didn't cut under the category for the others. It was something Hiwatari _needed_ and Petrov _provided_ but there was little more. No words of love, no caress once dawn came and no further thought. Hiwatari had come for another reason…Oliver was the reason…_A world apart that isn't good for Petrov…_

On no level did Kai feel threatened he only wished to stop the absurd situation evolving, but when he saw how silver eyes nibbled and licked and ate away at his brother he knew he would allow it to play out. Sergei was strong enough. Oliver wasn't.

"_You leaving at once?" _There was no emotion behind the question, Kai answering either way was good enough for Petrov.

"_I have to." _There was no need for more words between them, Sergei understood it meant the others needed him and so he would go. Kai grabbed the small sports bag and looked at Petrov who had now turned sombre. The furious red eyes flashed at Oliver for a short moment before closing the short distance between him and Sergei. It wasn't a kiss, in Oliver's eyes, it was absolute surrender.

Oliver waited, feeling his inside tensing and heat spilling over his abdomen until Sergei finally locked the door behind Hiwatari.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you wouldn't be alone." He blurted as soon as Sergei turned his attention back to him but the Russian merely chuckled. _Liar…_The little voice in Oliver's head accused him.

"Don't worry about Hiwatari. That's just sex." To Sergei there was noting special about that sentence. It was a statement of facts and little more could be said. He scanned the colourful range of emotions that played on Oliver's face in answer tough and found it infinitely amusing.

"He flew in from Russia for sex? That doesn't sound like _just sex_ to me." Oliver arched an eyebrow, he was aware he might be overstepping boundaries. Sergei chuckled putting the water to boil.

"That's because you've never had sex with _me._" There was smugness in the sentence that made butterflies in Oliver's stomach.

"Are you saying men usually travel across Europe to bed you?" Oliver smirked playfully, accepting the challenge.

"You would have to _try_ to understand." Factually Sergei answered looking over to the elegant man sitting on the bar chair on the other side of the tall counter. Oliver's mouth remained gapping and the tall Russian merely arched an eyebrow. _He has no idea what that lustful expression makes me want to do to him..._

"Is that an offer?" Oliver couldn't believe the question that rolled over his lips and he noticed he was gripping to the counter for dear life. _He's smirking…that BASTARD…he's doing this on purpose…Oh God…_

Sergei was smirking, finishing the coffee on the stove."Sugar or cream?"

Oliver bit down on his lower lip…it took all his smug and confidence to give Sergei his answer. "Both, I like it sticky and sweet."

Sergei needed to pause, resting his hands on the counter and chuckling to himself. _Little rich bastard…_

"Would you like me to blow on it for you as well?" He added smirking when he passed the cup to the Frenchman. The green haired man barely stopped a giggle.

"_Hot_ will be fine thank you." He gazed down at the cup to avoid cerulean eyes.

"Are you certain…we wouldn't want to damage that connoisseur tong of yours?" Sergei took a sip of his own plain black liquid.

"You can always kiss to make it better again-" Oliver stopped himself after he became aware what he blurted out. _OhMyGodOhMyGod…_He couldn't remember when last he prayed as vigorously as in the last week.

Sergei arched an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his features. "One kiss from me and you would break." _Shatter…so very finely…into little crystals of sugar…and glittering dust…_He found the thought funny.

There was something like disappointment on Oliver's face, his fingers trailing the rim of his cup. "Hiwatari didn't seem to break."

Petrov noticed his comment may have inadvertently ruined the mood. "Hiwatari is already broken."

Oliver was silent for a long while and they sipped their coffee in silence. Sergei flipped through the leather bound book in interest, murmuring opinions to himself. Silver eyes watched the man leaning on the counter... _I can't stop watching him…even though he belongs to Kai…I still want him…and just sex…I could do just sex…maybe…_

"What if I wouldn't mind being broken by you?" It was a faint question that broke the afternoon silence with the grace of a lover sneaking out of bed before morning. It was heard and it had the same effects as waking up alone…hurt but knowing it was better that way…

"I hope you never learn what it means to break…don't say such things." Sergei answered sombrely, whispering in the same hushed manner. He like playing with Oliver but that was all it could be…right?


	11. Chapter 11

For days work became formal…and reserved. Oliver didn't find himself looking forward to seeing the Russian, not since he felt so blatantly declined. _I had practically offered…I risked blurting it out and it ruined everything..._ This trail of thought was repeating…running in circles when he went to bed. He returned to spending his mornings with a crossword puzzle, his coffee noisette and a sweet croissant…he returned to laughing whole heartedly with everyone and not even hinting something was wrong. _Why should there be something wrong…there was nothing…you built towers from sand and they crumbled…_

The afternoon breeze tickled down his back and the small round sunglasses hung low on his nose. The large tree was casting a shade and Oliver relaxed on his large towel reading a paperback he purchased at the newsstand. The American bestseller occupied his thoughts entirely and he tore his eyes from the pages only to remove a green curl stubbornly falling in his eyes. It was the incessant giggling of the women close to the plateau he was lying on that eventually forced him to look around…he wished he didn't…he wished he'd never shown Sergei the beach…wished he could just vanish. The Russian was going for a swim and Oliver didn't want to watch, he stubbornly gazed down at the book but the lines and the letters were no longer getting to his brain. He couldn't relax. _He flirted…he provoked…it felt like a promise…stop thinking about it…He had Kai…it was just fooling around…joking…you do that with Giancarlo all the time and he has no right to resent you for not taking him home for the evening…you have no right to resent him either….It's different…Giancarlo is straight…he knew…did he know…he might not have known I was gay…God let me stop thinking…_

He put the glasses on the book and massaged his temples but the murmur of his internal bickering wasn't stopping. Oliver pushed the book away and lay his head on his hands, so his hair fell around him like a tent providing privacy. Closing his eyes he simply listened to the waves and the crickets, he didn't think…or he was forcibly thinking about the darkness behind his eyelids…_anything_…so he wouldn't think of Petrov. He fell asleep.

Sergei noticed the change…there was an ice barrier between him and the green haired chef. It wasn't what he wanted…or what he intended when he implied Oliver would break. Sergei simply wasn't a fool, he knew what he could offer wasn't something Oliver could handle. They were worlds apart and nothing beside their dance in the kitchen held them together. He didn't want to become the point of a rich heir's momentary interest and he didn't want to put his job on the line for a night of carnal amusement. It made sense. These truths were plain to anyone who bothered to look. They were plain to Kai when he told him…but it didn't change the fact Sergei was angry when he said it. It was Hiwatari's responsibility to warn him, even though he did not like it. How often had he been the bringer of such truths to light and how often did he clash with both Tala and Brian because of it? He understood now…how it felt to be at the receiving end. It was entrapping and definite…these facts that who they were and how they functioned would always separate them from the rest of the world. Hiwatari offered ritual, carnal unity of kindred spirits; drink, pain, want and pleasure.

So why was he still miserable? Why was he swimming feverishly and finding no calm. It would usually calm him, the body of water he cut through; cool against the blazing heat from above…the sea. There was such love for the sea…and the infinity of an open horizon. It frightened Tala when he first saw…but not Sergei who felt there would be no greater pleasure than attempt to catch the sun as it slid into the water…to swim until the end of time. So Sergei swam…his arms already painful, his limbs sore…and still he could not stop thinking…that what if perhaps…_it didn't have to last…if happiness could be given in a summer enough for an entire lifetime…_it may not have been possible for others who were raised with great hopes and aspirations…but for Petrov who spent his days observing freedom behind a tall iron fence it was possible…it was _real._

_

* * *

_

Cold dripped on his back, causing skin to crawl and his eyes to pop open. The salty drops slid down his back, icy against the heated skin. He sat up, running a hand through sun dried locks of hair. The mercury gaze trailed up Sergei's leg, over the boxers, tripping at the rim to slide up a crease of ripped abdomen…roll over the chest and lick over the curve of neck coming to a kissing gaze of the full lips.

"We need to talk." Rumbling and husky the words slipped from his mouth and Oliver watched…because he couldn't do much else…his heart had clenched and his breath had caught.

"Why?" With god-like effort he managed to reply and resume breathing. The Russian leaned against the tree.

"Why have you changed?" Sergei had an agenda…a target…and he wouldn't be deterred by the fact Oliver was almost naked on the towel. He hoped he would not be deterred at least.

"I don't do things half way." It was the truth and Oliver leaned back, propping himself up on his arms. He moved that way simply to better see the tall Russian, he hadn't noticed it left his body in a rather awkward position. Sergei frowned, trying to keep his eyes on Oliver's face.

"I see..." Even as he spoke his eyes wandered at vanilla skin and perfect pink nipples he could imagine licking, biting…over a flat stomach he wanted to caress and lower over the somewhat revealing trunks that made him smirk to gorgeous thighs he hadn't had a chance yet to behold. It made him lick his lips unconsciously. "…and yet…you stopped…half way."

Oliver shivered under the gaze. No one had _ever_ looked at him like _that_. He felt as if the patches of skin Sergei watched burned, devoured…melted. He did hear the words…the…_accusation._

"You stopped…I mentioned Kai and you stopped." There was a dash of guilt served with that sentence and Sergei returned his gaze to Oliver's face. He growled slightly. It made the Frenchman's skin crawl.

"No I was just honest. I told you Kai was broken, just like I am broken and you began saying foolish things…so I stopped you. I never stopped…_this_…you simply didn't talk to me any longer. You didn't smile so I didn't force you." It is a crude thing, explaining one's intentions…they can never be fully related to the other person…they could be merely described…and so much was lost with wrong translations.

"You hinted…I couldn't…I wouldn't be able to handle…_this._" At the lack of a better word he accented it and frowned demanding an explanation.

Sergei knew it all came down to Oliver's next choice…when he explained…that he really _couldn't handle him._

"You can't. If you would be close to me for a while…you would understand." He whispered it…unnerved they were having the conversation in the shade on a beach…with _people_ walking by. "I don't want to talk about it here. If you want something from me I'll cook for you tonight."

It was an invitation, an open invitation and Oliver stood abruptly as Sergei turned to leave. He began to speak but he didn't. His mind was racing. He would go…he _wanted _to go.


	12. Chapter 12

He was nervous…he bit his lower lip as he walked. He didn't know weather to bring a present…he brought wine. It was still bright, it was only eight, he wondered if he could get Sergei to watch the sundown with him…it felt foolish. He felt his heart brimming as if it would spill out and he felt a blush catching his cheeks as he knocked on the door.

It took a short while before it opened and he bashfully stepped inside. There was an awkward silence as Sergei locked the door. Oliver thought that as the host he should be the first to say something and Sergei just couldn't think of anything proper.

"You came." After a while of mental struggle he managed to mumble, surprised at his own inadequacy to communicate with the younger and even though he wouldn't admit it, he was surprised that he was nervous.

"I…I would have come sooner…it's just that I wanted to bring wine but I didn't know what we were having so I couldn't decide…and…so I just brought an entire palette." Fumbling he gave the bag to Sergei and it did hold a light wine, a dark wine, a champagne wine, a desert wine and a blackberry wine.

The Russian smirked. "You're just trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me." Oliver chuckled following the Russian to the large living room.

"You could no longer claim I do things half-way." He answered while Sergei put the wine away. Oliver walked towards the terrace, noticing the white iron wrought table and two chairs were already outside.

"I wouldn't object to your notorious ways but I have to disappoint you... It takes a lot more to get me drunk." Somehow Oliver was worried by that statement and he turned back to the blond man in disbelief. The fact they began joking again relaxed the situation and they both lost the nervousness that tied their tongs before. Oliver watched Sergei walk towards him, he liked the way the Russian was dressed, in a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and cream short pants that reached just to his knees. He carried two glasses and what seemed a bottle of aperitif.

They sat on the terrace, Sergei poured the deep crimson liquid into the cups, two bowls of pistachio and Indian nuts were on the table. Oliver smirked…Sergei had _remembered_…when he mentioned while they were cooking that the two were his favourite. The fact made his lips pull to a smile and he couldn't force it away.

"Why do you think I couldn't handle _this?_" Oliver blurted out instantly, he wanted to get it out of the way…he needed to make sure Sergei understood that he could…_and so I could finally touch him…_

Petrov chuckled taking a sip of his drink. "Take a drink first, please, it is rude to visit a Russian and not drink."

Oliver licked his lips starring into cerulean eyes and tasted the sweet but strong drink. It ran down his throat without burning but it made him feel the impact of strong alcohol.

"I should warn you, it doesn't take a lot to make me drunk." It was a warning as much as a statement. A little part of the green haired heir was worried what he might do if the liquor hit him. _If I blurt out I want him…in that state I would probably be capable of begging…I almost begged…when he left with Hiwatari…_

The Russian was still chuckling. "Good." _…it would allow me to have my way with you…_

Silver eyes starred at the man opposite in disbelief. "Why do I have the sense…you'll be having _your_ way with me tonight?"

"Because I will," Sergei took another gulp and leaned back in his chair, mischievous eyes enjoying the performance of emotions dancing over the younger's face. "Don't look at me in wonder, you _want_ it…you don't do things _half-way_ and I'm willing to serve that determination of yours."

Oliver swallowed, he felt his thighs clenching, just like when they first met he was petrified by a single statement. "I got the impression you thought I couldn't handle you." Oliver arched an eyebrow, finding some solace in the crimson liquid.

"You can't so I'm not giving you _myself. _I'm offering something primal, rather carnal and most sultry." He wanted his green haired boss to agree to those terms because he _craved_ his body to a degree he found himself desperate.

"That is _half-way_ just looked at from a different angle." Oliver squirmed, looking towards the sunset in the distance; finding calm in a dessert like sky, flaming and rum drenched. _Why can't you just, for once, not complicate things? Would it have been hard to just fuck him? That's what you want after all… _The internal struggle was beginning but he was snapped from it by Sergei's words.

"What do you want?" Vibrant cerulean eyes dragged over an exposed neck, over slick black clothing following the man's body perfectly but hiding the silken flesh he wanted to devour. _He doesn't know…he's a spoiled little brat…he doesn't know what he wants, these are just fairytale games to him…just dreams…Kai was right I'm wasting my time._

"Cards on the table?" The Frenchman mused, downing the rest of the glass and pouring another, it didn't matter an aperitif was not consumed that way, he needed the liquid courage. "I want you to fuck me. I've wanted you to fuck me since you explained about _sensations_. I just don't know if I can do _just sex…_rather I know I can't. I can't even do one night stands. So those are my cards, all hearts and no damn spades." He was instantly uncomfortable, he wanted to run away. Silver eyes couldn't look to the man beside him, rather locked on the bleeding heaven.

"That's what I meant…when I said you couldn't handle me. I have no hearts in my deck…only spades." Sergei stood, picking up the liquor and heading inside. "We need something stronger…_I need something stronger._"

Oliver followed, closing the balcony doors behind him. The neighbours didn't have to hear this and he knew himself well enough to know he wouldn't be whispering.

"Big tough soldier right? No fucking love for the world just _duty_?" There was anger in that statement that made Sergei pause and turn back to the lithe man. "Let little gentle me tell you something, you're full of bullshit, you're just afraid." Oliver crossed his arms on his chest.

Petrov felt anger swelling up in his chest but he could only laugh. He laughed outright and pinned Oliver down with a heavy aggressive stare. It was enough for the younger's eyes to widen in fear. It then took Sergei a single step with the younger man not even noticing what he was doing to pin him against the wall with a strong hand wrapped tightly around his neck. He leaned in to whisper as the frightened man whimpered in his hold. "You know _nothing_ of me. The little emotion I once felt was beaten out of me and bled and what little remained was shot, strangled, poisoned and drowned by my hand so I could survive. The horrors I saw would drive you out of your mind and leave you catatonic in a little padded room. So you think you can handle me? You think you know what's good for me? You cannot imagine the depths of my fear, out here where slaughter is not accepted and you are required to show _compassion._ The nights of feverish nightmares drowned in madness and aggression…the moments of absolute imploring death and undying loyalty only to my _brothers_. Love? A deck of hearts? Don't make me laugh."

As the larger man leaned away he noticed tears sliding from the corners of Oliver's eyes. Despite his words he felt his heart clench and his hold loosen. He left his hand only gently on the silken skin aware he had just snapped like he hadn't in years. "I'm sorry,"_ it's not your fault you're loving…this is my fault…_ He whispered; all fury evaporated from his voice, "I wasn't ready for this. I'll give you my resignation tomorrow." He moved away from the lithe man, from his sweet scent and his beautiful tearstained face. His hand reached for a vodka bottle in the freezer. He unscrewed the top while plunging into the soft couch. When Oliver left he would call Kai…because _Kai was good for him…_

Quicksilver eyes still watched him frightened and the younger man didn't move from his position against the wall. _He warned me twice…and I was so stupid…I had forgotten…forgotten what Max said, forgotten what he was…and I provoked because I thought I deserved him, because I thought him selfish…he was just being careful…I'm such an idiot._

"Don't give me your resignation, you're a brilliant chef I'll just tell father to transfer you north, you're Russian I'll say the heat is getting to you… I'll-" Quicksilver eyes watched him gulp down the vodka like it was water, watched him lean back with closed eyes.

"Don't worry about it. I can't be around people if I snap like that…I thought it was over…" _I'm still chained…aren't I Boris…even with you dead you're still pulling my reins and whipping my back? I should never have left Russia. Dangerous men belong in dangerous countries with dangerous people. _

"It was my fault. I'm sorry." Cerulean eyes looked at the dishelved man, at his gentle silver eyes. Sergei's thoughts calmed, turned to the man he was watching… _If I was normal…if I wasn't THIS…I could have that, love it maybe…keep it safe…I'm not good for him…_

Oliver calmed when he noticed Sergei's expression, just for a moment he wanted to move closer. _Even after everything you want to touch him…you're an idiot. It's just lust, you can satiate it with anyone…you can satiate it alone. Its not like that…it's different with him…it's erratic and dangerous and arousing…Don't be stupid you're getting in over your head…I want to get in over my head…I've never wanted to get into anyone over my head like that…_

"You're the most big-hearted person I ever met. I just don't believe you're real." Sergei stated after half the bottle had been downed and it dripped down the cracks of his broken persona…taking away the anger. A tiny smile crawled to the Frenchman's lips.

"Give me some of that poison and you'll see just how real I am." The green haired man took the bottle and sat on the short coffee table opposite of the Russian. The liquid burned, slammed against him like a car-crash. He never knew how to drink hard drinks, not like Sergei did, not like it was water. The Russian was amused and smirked as an expression of horror gripped the green haired man's face after he swallowed…


	13. Chapter 13

Some explicitness ahead…you have been warned… ;) :)

* * *

There was silence until they finished the bottle, until Sergei sigh and let his head fall back on the couch. Oliver was dizzy but he was also as drunk as he ever got and when he was drunk he was brave…foolish. He wouldn't usually grab out to a man who choked him an hour earlier…he wouldn't usually go near that man for a very long time, if ever…but when he was drunk Oliver wasn't his usual self and he half-crawled over the Russian in front. His entire body tensed, at _finally_ having contact. He straddled the blond trailing the exposed neck with his tong. Petrov didn't stop him, he moaned into the pleasant torture. The green haired chef nibbled at the neck delectably, sucking it like the finest of sweets. His hands rested lightly on the strong chest, travelling over the hard, tense muscle. Only when Sergei groaned and grabbed his hips firmly to steady him in place from grinding them together did Oliver dare press down on the chest demandingly, tearing the shirt open allowing the buttons to pop and revealing pale skin. Sergei turned his head back to watch quicksilver eyes intently, he couldn't truly focus but the overbearing stare of lust couldn't escape him.

His rough hands travelled up the heir's waist and over his chest, tangling in curls of green for a long moment. His hair felt softer than he imagined.

"You had better know what you're doing…" He slurred not daring to blink, "because if you take this one step further I won't be able to stop myself."

The little ball of excitement on his lap leaned into a kiss so forcefully Sergei surrendered, parting his lips for the intrusion. Oliver whimpered into the aggression of the kiss…into the overbearing sensation of _pleasure… Finally, God, I finally get to taste his lips…_

Petrov didn't need to be assured twice, he picked Oliver up tightly and rolled them onto the couch, pinning the smaller man beneath him. Oliver panted breaking from the kiss as the Russian tore off his clothes. Rough hands trailed his satin skin, caressing it with an odd concern. Oliver didn't understand why Sergei had suddenly become that _gentle_. The Russian knew, feeling the warmth and the softness beneath his fingers… _soft…how can skin be that soft…it cannot be human…he's too beautiful to exist…wake up…_ Strange thing was he wasn't waking up, they were still in the darkness of the room and the half-naked man lay pale beneath the few traces of moonlight.

"Where?" It was a quick interruption before they tangled so greatly they couldn't move anywhere. It took Oliver a moment to process the question.

"Bed…" He knew he certainly wouldn't be able to move when it was over. Despite his slight protest Sergei picked him up and threw him over the shoulder laughing. Considering the amount of vodka in his system Oliver didn't find it funny. He was dropped onto cool white sheets and kissed vigorously in apology. Their tongs danced…tangled and Sergei pinned one of his hands above his head, the other rubbing against his skin, tearing at the rim of his pants. Cerulean eyes trailed the neck as he leaned back slightly for the lighter man to whimper in protest instantly. He complied leaning in again, nibbling the soft skin behind the ear and down along the neckline. Oliver felt his breath tatter as the arousal slowly became painful, however Sergei was only beginning and the younger's neck proved a playground. Moans, whimpers, cries and pleas all tumbled and mixed as he kissed tender places and licked and suckled new ones, moving lower to perfect pink nipples. He felt Oliver's nails claw at his back as he bit down somewhat harder and released instantly.

"I can't-" Oliver was close to begging and the Russian chuckled tearing at the rim of his pants roughly, pulling them to the floor. He did the same with his own to save them some time of pale fingers fumbling with the belt. There was a standstill of appraisal and catching breath. Considering the sheer size of the Russian's package Oliver swallowed somewhat in panic. _OhMyGodOhMyGodOhmyGod…_

Sergei trailed over the Frenchman's chest with his tong, tickling and sucking in places, purposely slowly moving lower and didn't take long for the younger man's fingers to push down at the back of his head in agony. He didn't even have to ask, Oliver already answered.

"Please…" _Take it in your mouth, touch me…fuck me... _He felt as if he would burst, gripping the sheets with one hand and leaving the other on the Russian's head as he began to torture. His lips first kissed the thighs, the silken thighs he'd been thinking of since he saw them. They were luscious and sweet as he trailed his tong towards the most interesting plaything. If it were different and his own need hadn't been becoming painful he would have tortured Oliver more but this way he simply swallowed the heat as deep as he could receiving a muffled scream as Oliver pressed one of the pillows over his face. It made Sergei laugh and even more adamant about his pleasure.

He sucked on the brimming length slowly and erratically to elongate the torture. The Bollinger heir's muffled pants and moans only making his hips shudder. The slick cold of the lubricant moistened his hands and he first stroked himself holding Oliver's thigh clamped tightly. Quicksilver eyes watched him, listened as he panted.

"Bastard, I wanted to swallow you…"_….I wanted to taste you really badly…_ The glare the Russian gave him made him shudder in delight and the lubricated fingers slid around his entrance, pierced him, stretched him. He held the sheets with both hands whimpering and yelping into the dark, pushing down on the sensation. The kiss he received was far more desperate than the ones before and they groaned into each other as Sergei removed his fingers and placed his tip at the entrance. He moved back to see what he was doing and gazed down on the naked sweaty man beneath, with a smirk he pushed inside and the man beneath flexed, yelping, whimpering. _Soft on the outside…hard…tight on the inside…tighter than I could imagine and so very willing…I need to fuck him…move…_

The size was painful at first but as the larger man moved the initial pain was slowly passing, he found himself moaning, stroking his length as Sergei fucked him. He whimpered into it, moved, yelped, sought contact. The _need_ was becoming more insatiable with each moment. _FuckMeFuckMeFuckMeFuckMe…_ran around his head like a nursery and he soon began chanting it aloud. Sergei smirked groaning, pounding into him harder and harder making the Bollinger heir open his mouth and moan in desperation. Sergei's rough hand began jerking him off as he was fucked, the bigger man relishing the feel of the other's hard, brimming moistness, pushing down in rhythm. This made Oliver convulse in pleasure; he watched Petrov fuck him in almost frenzied want and listened to the deep groans of satisfaction as he claimed him. _I'm going to…God…_ Without mercy the Russian pounded into him, slamming against his prostate every time taking away his ability to speak.

"Mmn cmm…" He managed to mutter before he spilled his load over his stomach and Sergei's hand. The convulsion made the Russian grab his hip and hiss in a combination of pain and pleasure, as he twitched his hips and pushed in again he came, moving only slightly more for some final traces of pleasure. His cum dripped out of the lithe man as he pulled back and crashed dead tired on the mattress beside him.

* * *

It felt like always…with the mechanics of a body. The warm ball of excitement was calm now, breathing deeply. Sergei starred at the shadows of trees dancing on the ceiling. The thin white sheet wrapped over their bodies. He felt the vodka making his eyelids heavy. The Frenchman began murmuring in his sleep…obviously disturbed about some strange dream he was having. Sergei turned to his side and slid a hand down Oliver's arm; he relaxed instantly. Leaning into the sweet smell of the lither man he spooned against him, feeling the other breathing against his chest and despite a warm summer night relished in his body-heat. It surprised the Russian how perfectly comfortable the embrace felt and…he didn't want to let go…

Oliver's eyes peered open as the firm arm wrapped around his waist. He leaned back into the sensation of the strong man's body behind him. Wind hummed outside but Oliver focused on their breathing and the growing sensation of satisfaction. _…if only he would never let go…I don't want to wake up…I'm terrified of morning…_He squeezed his eyes shut, placing his hand over Petrov's. His fingers trailed the bigger palm and the longer thicker fingers. The Russian's skin was so rough almost like leather compared to Oliver's velvet. Eventually, Bollinger fell asleep again…


	14. Chapter 14

And a little more…lemon :) ;)

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Morning was bright and warm and he squirmed beneath the covers, his limbs twisting with the thin sheet. His hands slid beneath the pillow, pulling it into an embrace. He murmured as he rolled around, stretching, purring at waking absolutely satiated. Cerulean eyes watched him from the doorway. Sergei was smiling at the display of comfort and the revelation of beautiful skin. Petrov had just come out of the shower, dressed in silly flowered boxers he received as a joke one Christmas and a fresh blue button down still unbuttoned and hanging limply from his body. Silver eyes peeked at him from their bundle of pillows and sheets and Oliver's lips pulled to a bright smile.

"Morning" He stated diving out of the pile on the bed, almost bubbling with happiness.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Sergei cocked his head to the side as he asked; he had after all cheated Oliver out of a dinner.

"In bed?" Arching an eyebrow and smiling devilishly Oliver inquired.

Sergei groaned and then laughed. "The only breakfast in bed you can have is _me. _ If you want proper food come to the kitchen."

There was a moan of disapproval. "I have to choose? How about both?" His lips stretched to a bright smile when he asked. He watched Sergei leaning on the doorway, crossing his arms on his chest, thinking about it.

"Would you like to shower first?" Petrov presumed it would be what Oliver wanted most and the Frenchman nodded enthusiastically before gripping his head with a hand.

"I would….damn hangover." He stuttered out of bed, feeling his legs wobbly beneath him.

"You're hung over from that little drink?" Sergei chuckled, "I'll fix you something for that, don't worry." The Russian went to the kitchen leaving Oliver to wander towards the shower. Sergei took some fruits and vegetables and proceeded to make a secret recipe he had concocted for Brian's _bad days_. His hands worked out of habit, he didn't need to put much thought into it…his thought were elsewhere…with Oliver in the shower and with some terror of what last night started. _Don't think about him…about cool water running down that soft skin of his…you're lustful…don't be dependant… What will he want now? ... What about my little meltdown yesterday? ... Does he remember that…of course he does…he wasn't plastered… _"Sergei!"_…Shit…what does he want? … _"What?" _…I hope he heard me…I shouted loud enough… "_Would you come here?"_ …ShitShitShit _

He walked toward the bathroom, not completely trusting himself as he pushed the door open. Oliver was in the shower, he saw his outlines behind the misty glass doors. Sergei swallowed.

"Could you give me a towel?"

"Yeah…" He opened one of the nearby cupboards and pulled out a big fluffy towel. "Where do you want it?" The water jet was turned off and the lithe man pulled the glass pane open. Sergei arched an eyebrow but starred none the less. Oliver was waving for him to pass the towel before he got out of the shower…Sergei couldn't really move for a moment. He swallowed down some spit as Oliver tugged the towel from his hand, one foot on the tiled floor.

…_That little bastard…is he doing this on purpose? … I want to fuck him again…push him op that tiled wall where I first came thinking about him…That would be nice…_ Sergei pulled his chin up, kissing him demandingly. It took Oliver a while to actually perceive what was going on. He was being kissed, hungrily…and they were sober… the green haired man opened his mouth, allowing the greedy tong entry, tasting fruits and mint as they kissed. A firm hand pushed him back beneath the shower. Sergei stepped into the small booth with the object of his arousal, leaving his flip-flops on the tiled floor outside.

Oliver groaned as a hand trailed up his thigh, over his sex and to his abdomen, coming to rest firmly on his hip. He shuddered at the need that pressed him against the tiled wall, that didn't allow him to break the kiss and that moaned into him. _He's going to fuck me again…oh God…yes…it wasn't just that one damn night…he actually wants me…_

Sergei's clothes were getting wet, stained by the man he was pressing down against. Oliver arched into him, running his hands over his chest and wrapping them around his neck for support. Curls of wet green hair stuck to his face and dripped over the both of them. Oliver managed to break the kiss, simply to slide to his knees before Sergei had a chance to stop him. He yanked the boxers down with little patience and cupped the swollen erection with his hands. He licked the tip first, making Sergei push his hands against the wall for support. His tong trailed the length, he breathed in the other's scent, his own crotch already brimming for contact. One of his hands rubbed against the sack while he slowly suckled on the large member. He was good with his mouth…he knew he was perfect with his tong and Sergei found his knees buckling at what _the fairy unicorn bastard…_ was doing. He panted, feeling sweat drip down his back from the heat of the confined space. Growling as Oliver adjusted his rhythm and attempting to buck his hips for more brutal contact. Oliver smirked to himself at the despair he was causing the Russian, the whimpers and the demanding quivers that ran down his body. He felt a hand entwine in his hair and jerk his head back. Quicksilver eyes watched cerulean pin him down lustfully.

"Get up." It was an order, one he willingly obeyed only to find himself kissed feverishly, repeatedly on his swelling lips, over the jaw and to the neck. The Russian's large hand held his cock, rubbing the top with a thumb, making Oliver's muscles clench and his hips attempt to buck frantically. Sergei turned him around, pressing the pale chest against the tiles and pulling his hips back, bending his back…not once ceasing to pump the younger's swollen erection. Oliver whimpered, his pale fingers attempting to claw at the fine tiles. He felt the Russian rub against his entrance and shuddered. Sergei leaned over him, almost whispering to his ear.

"Can you?" Oliver knew it meant simply taking him…and he feared the pain but he knew he had sucked Sergei to within an inch of his endurance. He whimpered in agreement, whining as he felt his own cock stroked.

"Je tiens à vous sentir à l'intérieur…" It was a tattered statement, heatedly muttered in French…

"What?" Sergei asked, amused at Oliver's desperation…aroused by what was said…even though he didn't understand it.

"Fuck me…" the Russian didn't need more to slowly inch his way inside, Oliver bit down on his lips to muffle his whimpers; aroused as he listened to Sergei almost whine in pleasure as he entered.

"Oh God…" A firm hand gripped at his hip, another slid down his back around his waist and to his cock. Sergei slowly began moving inside him "You're that tight…isn't human…"

Aware the pain would pass sooner as Sergei hit his prostrate Oliver pushed his hips backwards moaning as, almost as instructed, Sergei picked up the paste. He pushed inside faster and faster and faster listening to the beautiful man scream in pleasure and almost beg to be torn apart without mercy…

…Oliver came, feeling his semen spill over the tiles, drip down his legs, he whimpered feeling the large member ramming inside him. Sergei gripped his hips in desperation, Oliver's walls tightening firmly around him. He growled into the soft white back as he came, feeling his own warmth sticky inside the younger. His arms wrapped around the smaller man and dragging the both of them to the hard shower floor. Sergei let his head fall back against the wall, blood completely drowned from his upper body. Oliver watched him in amusement, crawling over, licking him lips almost like a kitten and purring as he continued to nibble at the neck, slowly behind the ear…circling its rim and plunging inside. Petrov shuddered, hard hands struggling to get a hold of the younger, to stop him.

"I can't…I'll faint…" Oliver moved back in surprise, watching the strong man breathe deeply. A little part of him was very proud of himself. He relished watching the satisfaction he caused. _…bet Kai Hiwatari doesn't make you faint…does he? _He smiled smugly to himself. He couldn't have know that with Kai, Sergei was the bottom. "You little bastard…how did you get me to want you so much?" Sergei said it through a small chuckle as tired cerulean eyes slowly gazed at the Frenchman. Oliver smiled brightly, having the sudden urge to bounce about the room.

"Says the man who I _want_ even though he tried to kill me." He mused it as a joke. Wondering just how they would get over that _little misunderstanding…_

Sergei laughed. "I didn't _try_ to kill you. If I wanted you to die you'd be dead. I just got a little rough…I said I was sorry." His hand slid up Oliver's arm and stroked his cheek. Bright silver eyes watched him with admiration and a rather great deal of wonder.

"You've killed men before?" Sergei didn't answer, he merely stood slowly and threw the wet shirt and boxers out while taking the showerhead and turning on the water. They washed in silence, Oliver occasionally looking over, in wonder if he would ever receive an answer to his question.


	15. Chapter 15

The juice tasted horrible and it had a disgusting green-brown colour. Oliver couldn't believe he'd been served that…_that horror..._

"Drink up." Sergei told him, watching him in amusement over the table. Oliver looked as if he was about to faint after taking the first sip.

"What is that?" Oliver raised the glass and seemed to be attempting to discern the ingredients. He would much rather dig into the wonderful breakfast on the table between them than drink…_that_…

"Borya's medicine…" Sergei said, smirk still present.

"That a formal name is it?" Oliver frowned, "I think it's an offence to call it _medicine_ of any kind…"

"Borya would swear his life by it…and…trust me…it works." The Russian was taking a mouthful of the omelette. Oliver looked at him in mock hatred. It had only then dawned to him that Petrov was talking about some _other man_.

"Who's Borya?" Sergei almost choked from laughter when he saw the unnerved expression; as if he had thrown cold water in the younger's face.

"Brian Kuznetstov is a mean bastard who likes samogon parties instead of birthdays…" Petrov laughed in remembrance of the last _big day_.

Oliver _knew_ about Brian Kuznetstov… about the man that _hurt Rei…_ the silver haired blader…His expression grimed in recognition.

"I didn't hear a lot of good things about him." He simply put, looking back at the thick greenish liquid.

"Don't listen to other people…what makes _them_ good enough to make opinions for you? There are people out there…" He stopped himself, he almost said too much. Oliver had a way of making him blurt out private things…_things that would frighten him…things he couldn't understand…_

"But I saw the duel…when Rei collapsed…" Oliver's tone wasn't aggressive, he didn't want to insult or accuse Sergei's team mate, he was just curious. …_Kuznetstov looked so hateful…so completely inhuman…_

"When they both collapsed…and when…" Sergei didn't know if he wanted to get into an argument about a beyblade battle from some six years ago.

"Please tell me…so I can make my opinion." There was a long moment of silence and Sergei chuckled, deviously amused at his idea.

"I will, _after,_ you drink _that_." Oliver frowned at his bright smile. It wasn't fare…but he did it anyway. Pinching his nose he gulped down…_the horror…_

"I didn't think you would. You're the only person besides Brian to get it down. I'm impressed." In tone he raised his own orange juice in toast and took a tasty sip, sighing out loud at its _sheer wonderfulness…_ Oliver glared, his face frozen in an expression of sour pain.

"Now…_tell me."_ Oliver said before quickly drinking some water to wash the taste away.

"Brian didn't have much choice. It was an order. Where we are from…you can't decline an order." Sergei paused, he had no idea how to explain everything and yet try to say as little as possible. "The order was to kill, if necessary or be killed if one failed. Kuznetstov chose to let Rei live, he chose to face the consequences the people screaming from those stands did not see…" Sergei looked away…far out, towards the horizon and the endless ocean. Oliver couldn't understand…none of them could…_how darkness feels._

"But Kuznetstov is alive…so he wasn't killed." Oliver stated, nervously watching the blond chef. He was thinking of dropping the conversation altogether. _…I really can't chose a subject to save my life…I want him to smile again…_

Sergei frowned. "He was _punished_ in a way that would spoil your breakfast and he wasn't shot because I took the bullet for him while Tala made certain Balkov understood people would notice if Bryan disappeared…in the end…_our master_ allowed him to live but punished both Tala and myself. Ian wanted to help but we didn't allow it…he was too young, that _punishment_ would have killed him."

Sergei was still looking at the horizon, attempting desperately to _not remember_ that night vividly…that infinite amount of horror. Oliver shuddered when Sergei spat the word _master_, his fingers gently placed upon the table. He should have kept his big mouth shut.

"The wound close to your shoulder?" Sergei nodded in answer to the lithe man's question. Oliver remembered tracing his fingers against the damaged skin.

"Funny thing is…it passed right through but my body slowed it down and it lodged inches from Brian's heart. It's still there because it's too dangerous to operate. So yeah…I think what he did _for_ Rei outweighs what he did _to_ Rei." Sergei returned to his breakfast, snapping away from those memories. "You should eat, it's getting cold."

"Does Rei know?" Oliver asked, tension running up his back. Rei should know…Rei should forgive him.

"Kuznetstov didn't want to tell Rei, Hiwatari knows…but it didn't matter. Rei forgave him without having to know the sordid details." Sergei was eating happily. Oliver picked around his plate before taking a mouthful. It was really good.

"So how did someone like you…become a chef…not a chef, an excellent chef?" Oliver asked changing the subject.

Sergei laughed. "It was silly actually…you simply couldn't trust any of the others in the kitchen and before I knew it I noticed I loved cooking. It calms me, clears my mind and allows me to give something special to people."

Oliver smiled brightly. "You're one bag of surprises you know that?"

"Well when you grow up starving and make pancakes for your friends the first time and they poke at it in wonder…and they take a bite and start smiling... that's what I want from life." Petrov laughed and Oliver wondered how it is to starve…or not know what a pancake is…and suddenly he felt Sergei was worlds apart…


	16. Chapter 16

Slight edit made to the very end of this chapter... ;) Hope you like the story so far...some _very_ surprising chapters ahead :)

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It surprised both of them…how effortlessly they seemed to fit together and after the first week Oliver stopped going home…well home to his chateau at least. His parents hadn't noticed…they would probably only notice anything about him if he stopped coming to the restaurant. August was slowly dragging along, making Oliver tense and rather unhappy because in September he would have to leave for colleague and…well…he didn't want to.

He lay in shade of the big pine tree…finishing that American bestseller. It was a sunny day and they were free of the kitchen. Sergei was towelling off his hair, sitting on a big rock nearby. Oliver was happy…he was genuinely happy.

"Oy," He looked up to Sergei throwing his towel besides him and sitting down. "I have a request."

Oliver blinked, pulling off his sunglasses and gifting the appealing Russian his absolute attention, a small smirk playing on his lips. Sergei didn't respond smiling, simply looked out to the horizon, Oliver had learned…_looking to the horizon was bad…it meant difficult conversations…_

"is something wrong?"

"No…not _wrong_… I was just wondering if you could go back to the château for the next 48 hours?" Sergei's tone of voice was as if he was asking him to hand over the morning paper.

"Why?" Oliver decided Sergei _at least_ owed him an explanation.

The Russian looked straight into his eyes. "Kai is coming."

Oliver gapped…he _knew_ Hiwatari would eventually return…it was just…he wasn't prepared for it. He was jealous and he was angry.

"No" He spat angrily.

"You promised…" Oliver sighed and remembered another difficult conversation that involved horizon gazing and wine…where he _might have_ agreed…well he agreed to not meddle in Hiwatari's and Petrov's arrangement. It was just so _hard…to give him to that..._ Oliver closed his eyes. He should have brought his worries up _then_ it wouldn't be correct to confront Sergei with them _now._

"I know I did." Sergei waited and Oliver was quiet for a long while. The Russian looked down at _his _ball of annoying feminine giggles that managed to wrap him around a finger. _I don't want to hurt you…but you promised just like I promised Kai…and…I need him…I'll need him tomorrow…You wouldn't be able to help me…I might hurt you…_ Sergei caressed the younger's cheek and Oliver leaned into the touch; vibrant silver eyes looking at him in almost a begging manner.

_"You will go?" _As he said it, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist to stop the caress. Petrov became worried as Oliver declined looking in his eyes. There was a vivid and dominating sensation of _fear_ at perhaps loosing the lithe man. He didn't want that…Sergei was surprised when he understood he _couldn't be without him. _

"I promised…I just…" Oliver leaned back on the towel, looking into the treetops swaying in the afternoon breeze. "Do you…love Kai?"

Sergei blinked, confused at the strange question, scanning Oliver's slumped expression to verify if it was a serious inquiry. "It's not like that. I don't love…"…_anyone…_"…neither does Kai. If either of us did it would stop."

Oliver twirled a lock of his hair around his fingers, still watching the swaying branches above rather than the Russian he'd become addicted to. "But…why…why do you?" He noticed his words slurring as a sudden gush of sadness completely washed over his conscious. He couldn't even _think_ about _what they did_ without having to stop a tear.

The taste of Sergei's sea-water salty lips upon his own…_in public…_made Oliver shudder. He didn't know a lot of men brave enough to show their…_preferences_ that open. _Why did he do that?_ "It's a very old arrangement," Sergei whispered. "It's acted upon so very rarely…don't worry, what we have isn't in danger. This is different. Kai is coming to do something for me, to help me out."

"Can't I?" Another kiss silenced whatever he was about to say and his heart felt heavy…_I can't…I don't want to…why is he making me…do this…I promised him…I promised I could deal with it…what should I do?_

"Will you do this for me…?" There was a sombre determination in Sergei's voice. Oliver sighed deeply.

"I will but I _never_ want to hear about Kai Hiwatari again." Petrov blinked at the sheer fury in Oliver's eyes. "Or you'll never hear from me again."


	17. Chapter 17

Warning: a little angsty ahead but nothing major…

* * *

That night came…the _dreaded night._ Kai pushed the furniture up the walls, they sat on the bedroom floor. Sergei drank. It was dark in the room…_it felt better_…_darkness_. Kai's red eyes shimmered as forcefully as always…_brother_…

They waited…it was only a matter of time. Sergei tried to down as much liquor as possible…_make it easier for him_. Hiwatari had brought the restraints…they prepared the bed…now it was just a matter of waiting.

Kai was the only one whose breath would remain calm and whose gaze wouldn't leave him in search of the clock…on _that night_…_that dreaded night…_

When the entire bottle was empty Sergei stood and Hiwatari mimicked his actions. The red eyed phoenix followed as Sergei lay on his back, allowed Kai to fasten the heavy leather restraints tightly around his wrists, his ankles, his waist and his neck. They watched each other without emotion for something they both knew had to be done.

"Will the restraints hold?" Kai scanned the wrought iron of the bed, he wasn't certain.

"We have nothing better. If they snap…or the leather does…" There was a hint of worry in the wine red orbs. Hiwatari was beautiful in the moonlight. Sergei chuckled.

"No mercy." Kai nodded, tensing the leather around Sergei's neck. "I want it to end...I've had enough of _august._"

"Relax…this isn't the first time." Kai paused…"Is something different? Why are you worried?"

"This isn't Russia…if things go wrong…what will we say?" Sergei's eyes twitched nervously.

"I'll handle it. You'll be dead." Sergei chuckled again; glad Kai had his usual ice about him. Beautiful fingers gagged him…for when he'll scream.

Kai dragged a chair to the bed, and sat scanning over his restraints one more time…he sat…and waited. The phoenix listened to the wind outside…to footsteps and the clock ticking; his eyes calmly on his drowsy friend. _…I'll be here…don't worry…you were here for me…I'll do this…I can do this…_ He remembered the first time…_august_ happened. Tala and Brian had made Ian drag him away…but he lost the boy and returned, intent to find out why they had sent him on a wild goose chase…that was when he _saw…_Tala sitting in the corner with a gun and Brian sitting by the bed, where they had restrained Sergei. There was no other furniture in the room. He waited for an explanation but none of them spoke, they made no sound at all... Eventually Tala seemed to notice he was standing there, shocked…confused…_It ends at dawn, leave now or forget about leaving... _

Kai stayed…and from that night they referred to him as _brother..._

Sergei's beautiful body flexed beneath the moonlight and Kai's eyes turned to slits…_soon…_

_

* * *

_

Oliver woke up to his phone buzzing feverishly. He barely opened his eyes when he answered.

"_I would appreciate it if you came down…there's some disturbing ruckus coming from the apartment…" _It took Oliver a long moment to understand it was the supervisor for Sergei's apartment building.

"_I'm coming…"_ He moved out of bed in a mixture of extreme emotions. He was afraid at what he would find when he got there and he was afraid of going at all.

He didn't like driving at night. The hall of the building was deserted but the incessant banging didn't waver. At first something in Oliver clenched…_is that sex…?_ He paused, listening…it was no such thing…there was no rhythm and it seemed rather like someone was bashing down a wall. A sensation of calm rushed over him despite the fact he still had to discover what the noise was about.

Oliver slammed his fist against the door but there was no reply…no reply at all. He fumbled with the keys, his fingers shaking…._What the Hell is that? I hope Sergei's all right…what if he snapped and Kai answered…are they fighting in there?_

The door slid open but the living room was empty, he closed the door behind him, listening to the squeak of the bed over the tiled floor. Oliver grabbed the handle of the bedroom door and pushed it open. Then he _saw…_

Sergei had been strapped to the bed, the leather digging into his skin causing him to bleed. He was shaking, beads of sweat upon his brow reflecting in the moonlight. The veins on his neck popped and he was screaming into the ball of cloth gagging him. The pure strength of the convulsions running through his body shook the bed. Oliver dropped the keys to the floor, his gaze turning to Kai, holding a needle cap in his mouth and pushing the syringe in Sergei's arm. It glittered green…just like the colour of Oliver's hair. Kai pushed the liquid in. His firm hands than attempted to keep Sergei down, kneeling on the hand he had just injected and pushing the other down as well. Kai's fingers pressed down on the burning skin, his eyes forever focused on his brother's face…_I'm here…I'm here…I'm here…_

"W-what are you…doing?" Kai's furious red orbs flashed him in answer; he didn't have time or will to concentrate on the little French noble. The drug calmed Sergei's convulsions somewhat and he moved off his brother. Kai's hands gripped a cloth as he dipped it into the cold water, rubbing it against Sergei's forehead. He was tired…he felt his limbs shaking; it was getting hard to breathe.

"Get the fuck out." Kai spat growling in a fury Oliver had never seen in a human being. The sombre Kai Hiwatari fell back onto the chair, clenching his now shaking fingers in fists.

"No" Oliver answered angrily. "Tell me what's going on!" The Frenchman was terrified, he couldn't even move. His hands were shaking and he felt light headed… _What am I dong here…why did I involve myself with that…how much do I not know…I don't belong to his world…_

Hiwatari ran a hand through his hair, sweat ran down his forehead at the strain he'd been having to keep Sergei calm…so he wouldn't die or kill the both of them. It was only a matter of minutes now…until the toxin wore off…not enough…never enough…and they had even less as time went on…_It's better now…how it used to be…just to make it through…a couple more years and…he might…_ Kai leaned over, his forehead next to Sergei's hand, his hand on the Russian's chest…so he would feel when the flesh would flex again. Somewhere at the back of his mind Kai felt eyes tearing at him…he looked and met the quicksilver gaze…_he is so weak…shaking…without seeing anything…he's not good for my brother…_

"You can't help him." Kai told him, "You cannot imagine the pain. He would not want you to see him like this." Minutes passed; silent ticks of the clock and silent breathing. Wind pushed the white curtain towards the middle of the room, hiding the bed from Oliver's gaze for a moment.

Kai felt the flex beneath his fingers. He stood abruptly, opening Sergei's eyelids to be greeted by the white of the eyes. He threw the wet cloth into the basin as the first convulsion shook his brother. Kai watched…and waited…the muffled screams tearing at his ears…frightening him. It was roar of agony…pain…and hatred…more hatred than the world could take.

A tear slid down Oliver's face as he understood he was completely useless. He saw Kai use all his strength to push Sergei down as the worst of the convulsions began again. He watched Hiwatari even hit Sergei to cause him to calm. His fist would slam down on the heart or the side…strong enough to silence for a moment. This brutal kindness shocked Oliver as he shivered in the room, frozen in place by what he saw and torn by the need to run and never look back again.

It was a moment. Just a moment as the buckle snapped. Kai's eyes widened as the fist slammed against the side of his head. The force of the blow nearly threw him to the floor. Oliver shuddered as he noticed blood spill over the side of Kai's head dripping over his chest and to Sergei beneath.

The dual haired man did not take a moment to survey his injuries, he noticed Sergei tearing at the other restraint, biting down on the gag to survive the pain. Hiwatari grabbed his belt and whipped Sergei over the face, using the instant of shock to wrap the other hand with the belt and tied it firmly, to a point he used the entire weight of his body against the strength of one of Sergei's arms only to somewhat secure it against the iron wrought bar again. _It isn't long now…perhaps an hour…God let us greet dawn again…_

"Get out or help me." Kai stated as calmly as he could muster. Shouting only provoked the attacks. His brother fell calm beneath him but Kai couldn't move... he couldn't afford moving because he knew the worst was only coming.

"H-How?" Oliver managed to ask managing a brave step forward. _Just let me help…please…I don't want to look at that…_

"I can't see._" _Kai stated and Oliver moved closer, grabbing the wet cloth he wiped the blood from Kei's face and his eyes. His hands shook as he did it but he managed and he hovered there waiting for further instructions but none came.

They waited…frightened…both of them. Sergei's muscles flexed as the temperature tore through the veins and the toxin snapped each nerve in pain. Oliver noticed blood trail from the gag, filling Sergei's mouth and sliding down his cheek. Hiwatari clenched his teeth, not daring to blink. Oliver was shaking at the sight…at the horror illuminated by the moonlight and the slowly brightening sky in the distance. He had the sensation Sergei might die as he watched Kai bend his head whispering. He didn't understand Russian but he would have given anything to know what Hiwatari was saying…

"_I'm here…"_

The ticks of the clock passed slowly, Kai looking down in the feverish eyes of his brother…calming himself so he could whisper gently_._

"_I'm here..."_

Oliver watched them, Kai gripping the sides of Sergei's head tightly...Hiwatari's arms were shaking…

"_It's over…come, close your eyes my brother…I'm here and I'll watch over you as you sleep…please brother close your eyes and sleep…I'm here…"_

The blond man calmed somewhat as if the voice and the words soothed him…like a baby told its favourite lullaby. Oliver's lips parted as Sergei calmed and Kai leaned in close…his eyes hidden by silver bangs; blood dripping from his still open wound onto Sergei's cheek. Imense sorrow filled Oliver when he understood..._he_...could never do that for Sergei...not like that...and it _hurt_ because he knew himself and he knew he was beginning to _feel butterflies...What will happen now?_

"_Its' alright brother, look its dawning outside…it's safe now…they've gone with the darkness…you can sleep now and I'll be here…I'll be here when you wake…"_

"_Think of Tala"_ Oliver noticed Sergei's eyes closed at the name…"_Think of Borya"_ The fingers clawed at the sheets strongly…"_Thin of Vanya"_ Sergei had began breathing deeply…

When Kai muttered the last of the names he felt his limbs shake and cold grip his body. He had lost blood and he was tired…so very tired. He wanted to force his eyes to open but he couldn't. He fell; collapsed next to his brother and silence…dead silence filled the room.

Oliver didn't know what to do, he was shaking. He couldn't move an inch and the bodies on the bed were so silent now…motionless. _Please help me…I don't know what to do…what should I do? _

Oliver first made his way to Kai, wiping his face of the blood and inspecting the deep gash and broken bone above the eye. Pale fingers cleaned the wound and the lithe man took a deep breath. He calmed his shaking hands and took the needle and thread from the first aid box. Using the time Kai was out of it he turned on the bedside lamp and patched the deep gash. It was a trivial thing but he needed to start somewhere simply to calm his nerves. _….alright…think…slowly…it's alright, look its dawn outside…_ the Frenchman approached Sergei, his thin fingers pulling the cloth from his mouth. Tears blurred his vision and he had to stop, for a long moment he was afraid. When the fear left he took a deep breath again. He washed Sergei's face and felt his heated forehead. _…please be alright…please wake up and be yourself again…_

Tired and shell-shocked Oliver fell back in the chair by the eyelids falling closed as the first rays of sunlight fell into the room…


	18. Chapter 18

Oliver noticed he was warm and wrapped in something silky and soft. This sensation was overwhelmingly calming and he didn't want to open his eyes. Last traces of a dream he would forget in a matter of moments still plagued his thoughts and he squirmed. Two hushed voices he could not understand mingled with the comfortable darkness.

"_What are we going to tell him?"_ Kai sat at the counter, sipping coffee and watching the bundle they carried to the couch. He was tired and dark lines drew beneath his eyes and his cheeks seemed grey and shallow. The wound Sergei had inflicted was swelling and rather painful but Kai gave no sign he was bothered by it. The muscular man sitting in the chair opposite of Oliver was in worse condition. His open wounds had been wrapped and he regurgitated most of the blood from his stomach when Kai unstrapped him in the morning. His limbs were shaky and weak and his voice cracked to a hoarse rumble because of the incessant pain in his throat.

"…_the truth." _Petrov thought about lying…but to what end…Oliver could either accept everything or nothing, he would accept either decision. He was surprised when Kai told him the lithe man had stitched his wound and even more so that he remained during the entire final hour. It made him angry and nervous; he didn't want Oliver to see _anything_ so why did he come…if he was _asked not to_?

"_It's your decision…"_ Kai's words were supporting but his tone wasn't, Petrov knew Hiwatari would prefer they didn't disclose anything about their background, even more so to someone who had yet to prove he could be trusted. Sergei closed his eyes. It would be a long day.

Silver eyes peered open and the first thing he saw was Sergei sitting in the chair opposite, his muscular chest, neck and wrists wrapped in white bandages tightly. The Russian was very still, his eyes closed. He heard the shuffle of Kai behind him before the man walked into view. He pressed a cup of what smelled like tea to Sergei's chest, making cerulean eyes peer open and accept the offering. Petrov took a long and steady drink of the tea, it was an old herbal recipe to calm the mind and steady the pain, being illegal however it was somewhat of a trouble to come by.

Kai sat on the coffee table, his back turned to Oliver and neither of them noticed the beautiful man watched them through only slightly open eyelids.

"_They want to see you."_ Kai stated, motioning to the laptop.

"_Stubborn bastards…fine."_ Sergei frowned as Kai brought the laptop and the webcam over. Petrov saw his friends gathered on the other side of the screen, Tala in the middle and the other two pushing in, in the background. He watched them arguing and struggling for a while before they noticed he was on screen. It made him laugh even though he coughed up a little more blood when he did so. Bryan's face was swollen and he noticed his arm was in a casket but he seemed fine and as moody as ever. Ian was his usual smirking self, nervously pushing the bangs from his eyes. Tala was just smiling, illuminating eyes as sharp as ever.

"_You look like shit" _Ian was first to speak and break the tension, brutally honestly but happily none the less.

"_Still look better than you." _Brian burst out laughing and Tala chuckled, even Kai pulled a smile. Ian fumed but was amused that even hurt his friend had a sharp tong.

"_Kai, report?" _Tala mused almost formally, making the red eyed man crouch on the floor so they could see him.

Brian laughed while the others gasped. _"He slapped yah didn't he?"_

Kai frowned but nodded, Ian was smirking and Tala was quiet._ "Good," _Brian added, _"That'll teach you to smirk at my blue face after _august_ next time!"_

"_I solemnly swear NEVER to smirk at your greatness again…"_Kai was smirking as he said it and Ian laughed while a flash of angry red flooded Bryan's cheeks. Tala waved his hand to force them to shut up.

"_Everything went alright then?" _Tala wasn't happy when Petrov's and Hiwatari's faces turned sombre. _"What?"_

Kai didn't say anything; he just turned the webcam to the couch for a few seconds and turned it back to them again.

Ian was quiet.

Tala was confused.

Bryan was laughing his head of. _"The Unicorn!"_

Ian gathered his wits._ "What's spinach head doing there?"_

Sergei shrugged and Kai frowned._ "He just appeared around three in the morning." _

"_Sergei, your boss have a habit dropping in unannounced during the night?" _Tala's sharp eyebrow arched in an expression of _explain yourself_.

Bryan was still laughing. _"Oh, Sergei's bedding the rich princes…I wonder…why didn't he tell YOU Tala?"_

"_Yeah?" _Ian added smirking… _"He told US."_

There was a fleeting glance of hurt in Tala's eyes towards Sergei and betrayal when he looked at Kai, Hiwatari should have told him.

"_Why didn't you tell me?"_ He crossed his arms on his chest as he asked.

"_Because you're annoying when it comes to sex and partners." _Sergei took the opportunity he was wounded and in another country to reveal to Tala what they all knew for years.

"_What?"_ Tala yelled so loud Oliver's eyes popped open from shock.

Kai's frown announced something was wrong and Sergei was just chuckling faintly.

"_You woke our guest Tala," _Hiwatari explained. _"We have to go now."_

"_Wait…Sergei…explain yourself!" _The Russian was still chuckling forcing even Kai's lips to curl to a smirk.

"_You can ask Borya and Vanya…we all think the same thing." _Tala's mouth popped open at Sergei's comment and both Ian and Brian sent death glares through the screen. Kai popped the lid down, still smirking, he knew it was Sergei's revenge for their teasing and he found it rather fitting. There was little as annoying as being in the same room with Tala when he wanted to know something.

Oliver sat up, the sunlight falling over the tiled floor and warming the room. Quicksilver eyes watched only Sergei whose face turned sombre when Oliver sat up. There was a standstill of silence and Kai wouldn't interfere.

"Why did you come? You promised-" A cough stopped Sergei from talking further and Oliver had the need to bolt towards him and help him. Kai's heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Don't, he's already embarrassed you saw him weak." The whisper was so faint Sergei couldn't have heard and Kai continued along his path and onto the terrace.

"There was a call from the supervisor about loud noises, I had to come." Despite Kai's words he handed Sergei the cup. "What happened?"

The Russian frowned as he drank. "Just seizures…"

"How often does this happen?" Oliver asked worried, he didn't want Sergei to suffer like that besides he had never seen a man convulse like that...

"Only 25th of August" Sergei answered taking another sip to enable him to speak. He watched the Frenchman's worried expression, he didn't want the pity.

"B-but why?" Oliver had never heard of a seizure that came down only once a year.

"Because I have a cybernetic implant in my head that needs to be injected a certain amount of toxin once a year to stop me from acknowledging emotions. When there is no toxin there is withdrawal." Sergei looked towards the terrace and the horizon. He didn't want to explain _this_…_he'll think I'm a monster…I just…I want to go home…_

Oliver noticed his fingers were shaking again, he had heard rumours about Tala being a cyborg but he never believed such foolish insinuations could be _true_…and Oliver didn't know how to process the information. The Russian had displayed emotion…that couldn't have been fake and…if he was willing to suffer so much just to be _normal…_ perhaps Oliver could live with that…perhaps…

"Kai had a syringe when I came." Cerulean eyes blinked when they looked at him. "it was bright green"

"A highly diluted solution…so I wouldn't die." The Russian watched the younger man's eyes widen.

"This will go on for the rest of your life?" Oliver blinked…pretty certain he would cry if Sergei said yes.

"No, some research we were able to salvage stated it takes 10 years of withdrawal for the implant to become dormant." Sergei slowly felt his strength returning, he would need the rest of the day but he would be capable of functioning normally tomorrow…like always. He couldn't discern the trail of Oliver's thoughts; he was just glad the younger hadn't yet bolted for the door.

Kai walked back into the room, his red eyes shimmering playfully. "I won…I have it all back." Voltaire had disowned Kai, when he saw Kai go against his wishes but Kai had challenged the will on account of his grandfather's sanity. It wasn't overly hard to prove Voltaire was insane; it was hard to get an honest judge. In the mean while Kai had invested all of his private savings in a restoration and construction firm, dangerous work in Russia but very lucrative if you survived the market. Hiwatari now had both his fledgling company and the old giant he earned by blood.

Sergei smirked. "Good for you, you're a rich bastard again."

Kai frowned. "I just have to get those idiots to move out of that crumbling dump."

Sergei laughed, coughing at the same time. "You want to drag them to Voltaire's castle? Tough luck, I'm telling you now they'll rather live in a cardboard box."

Kai scowled at the truth of it. "What about Sankt Petersburg?"

Sergei smiled. "You're really adamant about this." He knew accenting Kai's determination to help them would annoy the beautiful man and just as he said it Kai frowned and began packing. Oliver was somewhat confused and his eyes darted from one man to the other. _…they're acting as if nothing went on, just another lazy day…just a time to laugh and think of other things…is this normal?_


	19. Chapter 19

Oliver set the table. Sergei watched him, confused at the younger man's determination to help…but feeling happy because of it. He felt sort of victorious against Kai's scowl when Oliver offered to stay and cook before Kai left for the airport. He wanted to say…_I told you he wasn't all useless…he isn't bad…he's trying…how many people do you know…that have TRIED around us…I don't know that many…_

They thought Petrov was sleeping, sprawled out on the couch, relaxed, eyes squinting. Instead Sergei was amusing himself by spying on them. Watching with half-lidded eyes their hidden disfavour…the dampened loathing... The way they flashed each other with a gaze when they were close…how they attempted to not speak to one another for any reason… Sergei thought they were being foolish and overly protective but he knew his opinion didn't matter, they had already made up their minds about one another.

The green haired man took a deep breath as he watched the bright sunlight brimming on the horizon in the distance. He counted the white sail boats gliding along the surface of his vision. He was surprised when he noticed Kai carried the heavy pot to the table and looked at him grimly.

"What do you want from him?" In a firm voice the dual haired man said, silently so the man slumbering inside couldn't possibly hear. Oliver didn't know if he wanted to answer the rude intrusion of their _personal life…_He found himself confused at the term that wandered into his brain…they after all still didn't have anything _official_ while Kai had a firm place in Petrov's life.

"How is that any of your business?" With equal distaste gushing from his tone the Frenchman answered. He felt his heartbeat quicken at the thought of arguing with a _Kai Hiwatari _over an _insufferably good_ chef.

"He mentions you…to our friends…that has never happened before, with any of Sergei's partners. You're becoming very _real_ and you're not good for him, just like he isn't good for you." Kai's crimson orbs focused on the lithe exquisite man. He just…_I need to make certain he understands what he's getting into…if he's really ready to try, I won't stop him…_

There was a mixture of bubbling happiness in Oliver's chest when he heard Sergei _talks_ about him. _He's mentioned me to his friends…he's talked to Kai about me…_Oliver was barely stopping a bright smile from overtaking his lips but he also heard that _I'm not good for him, pft, what does he know?_

"What makes you believe you're fit to judge if we can function?" Oliver crossed his arms, shifting all weight to one leg. Kai smirked at the endless spunk in the artsy little Frenchman.

"Because I've lived on both sides…" He paused, trailing the younger's delicate features…_like a frail child stubbornly holding to his blanket but he's a big boy…big boys can't cuddle beneath blankets…_ "There is an unbridgeable gap between anyone who has suffered like they have and the rest of the world. It is something that cannot be changed because it is in _who they are_ and _who you are_. So, I need to know what you want and you will tell me."

Oliver gapped at the stubborn arrogance of Kai Hiwatari's request. He noticed the strong man's glare sharpen and he was aware they wouldn't be moving from the spot until he satisfied Kai's _request. _It proved hard to form a decent answer. What did he want…_I want to be near him…like it was before…laughing and creating new recipes…drinking coffee in the morning…listening to him curse at the laptop each time one of his friends does something stupid…and they do seem to do that a lot…_Oliver found himself smiling while Kai simply watched him with an arched eyebrow.

"I just want to be with him." Oliver found his stern gaze again. "I'm _here_ even after _last night_ aren't I?"

Kai smirked, or perhaps smiled slightly, Oliver wasn't certain. Hiwatari didn't say anything else he simply turned around and walked towards Sergei.

"Open your eyes you cheater and stop straining to hear or you'll break your neck. The little boy _wants to be near you_ so you better come over to the table or we'll eat without you." Kai nudged Sergei's side with a foot, forcing one cerulean eye to crack open. Oliver watched Sergei smirking, grabbing the joint to a look of utter horror on Kai's face and twisting it causing Kai to land on the coffee table. Petrov was laughing, slowly propping himself up to a sitting position, groaning from pain as he moved. "Bastard, fine, get to the terrace alone." Kai stood dignified and walked out to Oliver.

"Come on man!" Sergei shouted and Oliver wanted to go inside but Kai's hand on his shoulder stopped him. The Frenchman was confused.

"You'll have to learn to call his bluff, besides, he has a lesson to learn or do you find it alright that he was spying on us the entire time?" Oliver shook his head like a no and watched the muscular Russian laugh before standing up with only slight difficulty.

"You two are getting too cosy, I had more fun when you were glaring." Smirking Sergei said, finding his place at the table. Kai and Oliver sat down in strange silence. The sun was heavy in the distance and it was rather warm, a slight breeze trailed over the terrace…

* * *

Oliver watched the sundown, purple clouds swallowing most of the heaven…only bright crimson around the ball of heat, dipping beneath the water…crimson like Hiwatari's eyes. Hiwatari who was gone now…on some plane…back to Russia…

Sergei took a sip of wine, watching Oliver rather than the horizon. He trailed the younger's tired features, heavy-lidded eyes glimmering the faintest quicksilver…almost illuminating. He watched the green curls eternally lively fall around his face and draw out the paleness of skin even further...

"You're starring." Gently Oliver implied, not even looking over but _feeling_ the overbearing gaze of his _lover._ The word tasted strangely as it floated into his thoughts.

"That's because I forgot to blink." Sergei answered with a faint smile, taking a sip of wine as he said it. Oliver was instantly amused, a smile playing on his lips…_that_…was the Sergei he wanted. "Were you frightened?"

It was a question that came out of nowhere and vibrant eyes turned towards the Russian. Oliver licked his lips and took a sip of the wine before he answered.

"I was terrified."

There was almost instant sadness in Sergei's eyes…not perhaps one everyone would notice but Oliver noticed, he had gotten used to the slight changes on the other's face…faint…so very brittle. He knew Sergei would _ice up_, as he decided to call it, if he thought any weak emotion was obvious…emotion like sadness.

"Yet you remained." The Russian stated any brief sorrow no longer evident on his features, rather replaced by a solid iron smirk.

"Don't send me away…next time." Oliver managed to muse into his glass, peering into Sergei's blue orbs over the rim.

"So…you'd stick around for a next time?" Sergei asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Yes" the Frenchman answered almost instantly, placing the tall glass on the iron table. _How could he even doubt…did he think I would leave…that idiot… _"I'm not letting go of you that easily…even…even if it means having more awkward conversations with Kai Hiwatari."

Sergei chuckled. "He can be a stubborn bastard sometimes…means well though."

Oliver's eyes turned to slits as he spat "_Whatever_…It's not _just sex_ for him and you know it."

The Russian frowned, he wanted Oliver to understand it was different for them…that he couldn't just abandon Kai, because Kai needed him…needed someone who could provide _just sex._

"It's not love either, papillon, it's brotherhood you will understand in time. He didn't challenge you to compare, he challenged you to see if you were good enough…"

"Did…did you just call me a butterfly?" Oliver asked blinking…_had he just…used a French word to describe me?_

"It doesn't sound as beautiful in Russian." Sergei mused into the cup, finishing the dark liquor. He hated giving compliments…he _really_ hated giving compliments. It was just he also _really wanted_ to call Oliver a butterfly. Oliver smirked at the faint red staining Sergei's cheeks…_OhMyGod…He's blushing! I've NEVER seen him blush before…_

Sergei frowned at the endeared expression his companion had made. "Don't let it go to your head…butterflies are just bugs with pretty wings." Despite his every effort to remove the brightening smile from Oliver's face it seemed to only grow bigger.

"Oh, you think my wings are pretty." Silver eyes were opened brightly, lips pulled to a massive smile and Oliver _knew_ he was pissing the Russian off.

The exasperated annoyingness mixed with pure disbelief. "What the fuck? I think you've had enough of the wine." Slowly standing up Sergei grabbed the bottle by its neck and made is way to the kitchen.

Oliver's expression changed instantly, he was rather fond of the idea of drinking another cup or two. "No really, Sergei…_don't_ take the bottle away…h-hey!"

"You know you get horny when you're drunk." He held the bottle beyond Oliver's reach until he placed it into the fridge. Than turned to the green haired, pouting man pinning him down with a mock-offended gaze. "I can't perform tonight, if you haven't noticed." Sergei fumed in play anger, motioning about his still somewhat painful wounds. Most people would perhaps need to remain in bed-rest after an episode like that but Sergei was from the Abbey, he was used to it.

The green haired heir's mouth fell open in shock. "I would most certainly not _abuse_ you after last night!"

"You don't know a rabbit from a rhinoceros when you're drunk, much less what you're doing!" Sergei smirked in remembrance of another episode when Oliver insisted he saw a "_rhintochetorous" at the pet shop and he wanted one just like that when he was little…_ Then upon secondary inspection of the pet shop window Oliver exclaimed…_there, there he is, my "rhitocetorofus"!_ It was a black and white spotted rabbit.

"Sergei…" Seriously Oliver exclaimed, crossing his arms on his chest. "Why do you decline to use the word _bunny_?"

"Because it's stupid." Sergei answered dead serious…_fairy unicorns can say bunny…I DECLINE the use of such childish words…_ Oliver wasn't even listening to him; instead dropped down on the couch and smiled brightly.

"So…what now _lover_?" Leaning on the cushion his green haired _lover_ questioned. Sergei stopped for a moment…bedazzled by the yet unspoken word…_lover…well technically we are but…_

"You love me?" The question set a dent in the chipper atmosphere. Oliver paused, contemplating long on the question.

"I don't know…I might…I certainly haven't felt this way about anyone before. Is that a problem?" Silver eyes revealed internal panic…_OhGod…why did I have to say that….what the hell…don't freak out Oliver, breathe, just breathe…I'm fucked…._

"I don't know." Sergei told him blinking, resting against the counter for support. "I've never been _loved_ before." The strong Russian found himself puzzling what _love_ really was…_a word…oh, yeah…one none of the others dare even say…but Oliver loves many thing…he loved champagne and strawberries and steampunk and his friends…so would it be bad if he loved me?_

"What about your friends? You love your friends…I can see that." Oliver stated completely certain in the factual correctness of the sentence.

"That's not love." Sergei said raising his hands in defence…_we don't do love…_he remembered Borya saying once…

"Of course you do. You get up at one in the morning to talk to Tala so he doesn't panic. You make sure Ian's doing good in school and you even made a special drink for Brian's bad day." Sergei blinked…_when the hell did he pick all of that up? _"Don't look at me like that. I _pay attention _ to _you."_

"That's love?" Oliver only than understood the conundrum in their conversation. Sergei waited for an answer.

Oliver thought he'd faint. "You can't be telling me you don't know about _love?"_

"No" Oliver blinked but Sergei just shrugged sitting down in the nearby chair. He was slowly getting sleepy even though it was early.

"Well, yes, that's love. Love is caring for something or someone, worrying about them and thinking about them when they're gone…there are different kinds of love also." Oliver relaxed in the couch, thinking about it. _How does one explain love? Is there a definition out there…maybe a table of contents? _"The love of parents to a child and a child's love to his parents." Oliver began but Sergei's growl interrupted him.

"There is no such thing…" The green haired man was taken by surprise. Sergei gazed at the ceiling remembering…_Bryan shaking outside in the cold…his arm broken…his face bloody…Tala hovering beside him and me running towards them…before…before the Abbey…_

"It is not a rule, not all parents, or children, are loving." Sergei's darkened expression worried him and he walked over, running his hands through the blond locks and kissing the man's forehead. "I'm sorry"

Snapped out of his foul mood by this completely uncommon display of kindness Sergei pulled Oliver on his lap, completely mesmerised as the younger curled up and rested his head on his shoulder, breathing calmly against his neck. He had embraced the others on occasion attempting to soothe a nightmare but this was different…they never showed kindness that _openly…Is this love? It's…_ but now word could describe the warm bundle of sensations at the thought. It couldn't be defined.

* * *

Sergei gazed at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, Oliver breathing calmly beside him. It felt _familiar_ and _right_. The strong man turned to the side, running his hand gently over his lover, caressing the beautiful skin…the beautiful man. _How do you know love?...is there a warning of some sort? Are there symptoms?_ Oliver's freshly washed hair smelled sweetly, cool against his skin, slowly drying during the night. He had so many questions…they could wait for tomorrow. His arm wrapped around the divine bundle and he spooned against the lithe form. He heard Oliver moan in his sleep as he did; it made Sergei smirk…_I shouldn't have given him that much wine…_

Oliver opened his eyes as the firm arm snaked around him, moaning into the sensual feeling of the stronger man behind him. He was surprised when Sergei didn't know what love was…it didn't matter anymore..._I'll show him everything…he'll notice he loves me…I know he will…because he can't sleep without me and because he does all those little things lover do…he remembers important things…it just hasn't dawned to the tough guy…_Lithe fingers wrapped around a big fist. Tomorrow he'll tell father Sergei's coming to Paris to cook with him…from now on, he's the only cook he wants to work with. …_mother's going to have a blast…well, at least she'll hold my corner…_


	20. Chapter 20

The Last Chapter

* * *

Little light came from the streetlights, reflected of the icy sheet of snow. Heaven was dark, a pitch blackness of a quiet night. The onslaught of the snowstorm made it hard to see and snowflakes got caught on his eyelashes, causing him to blink repeatedly. Cold gripped him even beneath the many layers and his cheeks flushed with the familiar kiss of homeland. Sergei breathed in deeply…_mother Russia and her merciless winter…_

The beautiful three story house was only a few steps away, yellow light burning behind windows with drawn curtains. Three little steps led to the elegant dark door. Petrov looked up to see smoke coming from the chimney. He was apprehensive about stepping forward…about coming _home._

The doors opened and a familiar twerp stood dark against the light from the hallway beyond.

"I told you guys I heard a car!" Ian bellowed toward the living room. A chaos of footsteps brought the rest of the team to the door. They were smirking…or smiling perhaps Sergei couldn't really discern their expressions. His hands were full of large bags and suitcases.

"Get out of the cold Sergei!" Tala commanded with firmly crossing his arms on his chest. Brian pushed past him in his slippers. The silver haired man grabbed some of the suitcases from his brother grimly.

"Come on, my feet are getting wet." Petrov followed Brian's gruff voice inside. The heat of the hallway spilled over him instantly and he found himself smiling. The house Kai managed to _persuade_ them to get was far more beautiful than he'd imagined. Even though he didn't know the name of the old-fashioned style it reminded him of the palaces they used to visit when they were younger…_imagining_ how it must be to live in a home with tall ceilings, large windows and spiralling staircases with chandeliers in every room…and even though this house was by far humbler it still held the flare and the warmth they always wanted.

"Did you bring presents?" Ian mused smirking widely. Sergei laughed only then placing the bags to the floor and beginning to strip layer after layer of clothing. Tala scowled Ian with a glare.

"Welcome home." …_home…with the smell of dinner and a fire crackling in the fireplace…just like we imagined…_A husky voice said. Sergei noticed the red eyed phoenix leaning on the doorway to the living room. Sergei nodded in response while Ian scanned the bags for anything that seemed valuable. Brian hit the back of Ian's head on his way from the bathroom, fresh socks on his cold feet. Sergei chuckled at the scene.

"Nose out of the bags twerp!" Brian commanded angrily, crossing his arms on his chest.

"Tala!" Ian shouted, expecting the red-head to tame his lavender-eyed partner. Valkov was busy locking the door and only sigh. Kai watched the familiar insanity with a smirk, rather glad they were all together. A crashing noise came from the living room and Kai turned around to gaze inside; he was laughing. The others pushed their way beside him. A snow white puppy with radiant blue eyes was busy eating the somewhat charred roast he had managed to kick off the table. An orange kitten was licking the juice and tearing at a piece of the meat beside him. There was a gaze of utter defeat on Tala's face. Ian burst out laughing and Brian smirked.

"BRIAN, IAN GET YOUR PETS OUT OF THIS ROOM THIS INSTANT!" Tala's shriek pierced out to the street. Brian chuckled walking over to the white Haskii fur ball.

"Come on_, little Tala_, we wouldn't want you to get food poisoning from _big Tala's_ cooking…" Brian mused smirking as he carried the white puppy out of the room. Ian was still laughing.

"He called the dog Tala?" Sergei asked the furious red-head with a smile.

"We didn't decide on the name but he thinks it's funny. Oy, Ian, don't turn me into KittySlaughter you hear!"

The short man tumbled towards the other end of the room and picked the orange feline up but the cat attempted to claw its way back to the food. Kai bit down a laugh as Ian struggled with the cat.

"No Absinth…NO I SADI!" Ian shouted as the cat dug its claws into his hand.

"That is one mean cat!" The blond said taking a place on the couch while Tala wondered over to the table.

Kai answered smirking. "Yeah we thought it was funny when Ian came home one day, hand all bloody, gash by his eye…said he found a friend." Kai leaned back in the chair, looking into the cracking fire in the fireplace.

"Suits Vanya to have a pet that bites at the hands that feeds him." Sergei concluded looking over to Tala in the neighbouring room. "Need any help?"

"…" Tala was cursing to himself while wiping the floor clean. The large oval table had been beautifully set and Sergei noticed his captain must have put a good deal of thought into it, seeing as he didn't see Ian or Brian helping any and Kai just wouldn't bother. "…I suppose we could order in…"

Sergei smiled looking over to the other room through the massive archway. "Don't worry, I'll mix something up. I doubt anyone is driving in this weather."

Tala looked at him sadly. "Sorry Sergei"

"Don't worry about it," Kai answered in his place, "We both know he'll want to try out the new kitchen." Hiwatari smirked as he picked up the newspaper he'd been reading and immersed himself in the political articles once again. Ian burst into the room, wrapping his arm.

"Alright, now, tell me about the presents!" The endless interest in his voice made Sergei understand he wouldn't get out of it so he stood sighing.

"I promised presents didn't I?" Tala came to lean on the archway, Ian was holding his fists tight in excitement and Kai arched an eyebrow and peeked from his reading. Sergei went to grab three bags from the hallway.

"I something going on?" Brian asked walking down the stairs, _little Tala_ running after his heels.

"Brian, I thought I told you-" The red-head's comment was cut off by a pathetic gaze from Kuznetstov, who picked up the puppy and pushed it in Tala's arms.

"I know Tala...but he was frightened and kept crying when I closed the door. You wouldn't want him to cry..._would you?"_ There was something inexplicably evil about the way Brian could manipulate Tala's compassion. Loosing the fur ball he plopped down on the couch. Still confused as to what just happened and with an extremely happy dog licking his face Tala looked back at Sergei placing the bags on the table. Ian was amusing himself with investigating the bags which allowed the others to have a decent conversation.

"So Sergei, where's spinach head?" Kuznetstov asked putting his feet on the coffee table, earning another furious stare from Tala but not being bothered even slightly.

"He's at the restaurant, he has to work the rest of the week." There was a tone of disappointment in Petrov's voice only Kai noted.

"I thought the rest of the world doesn't work around Christmas?" Tala asked unconsciously snuggling the puppy. His vibrant blues glued to Sergei's cerulean orbs.

"Why don't you invite him to fly over when he's free?" Brian arched an eyebrow in surprise to Kai's _idea._ Tala and Sergei were dead quiet, only the puppy was yawning in Tala's firm hold.

"Presents! Presents! Presents!" Ian chanted clapping after he found the brightly wrapped boxes.

"Oy put that down, Ian, damn it how old are you?" Brian shouted throwing a pillow straight in Ian's face.

"Look you heartless drunk I happen to _like_ getting presents so up _yours!" _Ian pointed a finger straight at Brian and all the silver haired man had to do was slowly stand up for Ian to turn pale.

"What did you just call me?" The fury in that statement was almost like Stroblitz and Vanya paled.

Kai slammed the newspaper on the table and stood up, causing all the eyes in the room to gather on his growing frown. "Enough." He flashed both Ian and Brian a burning red gaze making their lips shut tightly. There were moments to argue with Kai and moments…better not to. "Sergei, why don't you call Oliver over for the rest of your holidays?"

Tala nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Kai's right. I want to meet this _sugar daddy_ of yours." Brian and Ian began chuckling at Tala's use of the American expression and sergei simply growled.

"I would Kai, if none of you object…but if I _do_…" he flashed Tala a gaze and two shades of blue were caught in a gentle standstill. "I need you to be…" Sergei sighed…_I don't want them to pretend to be normal…I can't ask that…_"…yourselves."

Brian smirked at that and nodded. "Samogon welcoming party it is than."

"No, not like _that_ Borya!" Tala flashed him a worried gaze but the lavender eyes were smirking back.

"I won't set anything of his on fire. That's all I can promise." The short man crossed his arms and Sergei simply nodded, a small smile etched on his lips.

"Invite you _lovely heir_ over then." Kai added smirking into the drink he had poured himself while they were _discussing_ the invitation.

"Now," Ian said briskly. "Where is my present?"

"Yeah what _did you_ get us?" Tala added putting the puppy to the floor.

Sergei laughed, he was happy…_it feels good to be home again…I missed the insanity a normal evening could bring…I missed them…I hope they like the presents, I really tried to get them something they liked but I think the best thing I can give them…is love…damn I'm ashamed and uncomfortable just thinking about THE WORD…but Oliver explained it…I'll explain it to them too…then we can be normal…well, somewhat more normal…or even more insane?_

The snowstorm outside was raging, shimmering snowflakes beneath the light escaping from their windows. It was warm inside…for the first time in their life…they were _warm_ during winter. Absinth was lying on the windowsill of the room above, watching eternal white in the distance, licking her claws clean of Ian's blood…

The End

* * *

Ok, I slightly changed the ending because a friend of mine wanted to hear more of Oliver.

I'm thinking about adding one more chapter about Oliver coming to visit? I'm interested in your oppinions?

Thank you for reading, please REVIEW!

p.s. Absith is the name I picked for the cat...I may have been slightly obsessed with alcoholic drinks during writing this but meh, it's Ian's cat so I found it fitting


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